


i never watch the stars (there's so much down here)

by archers_and_spies, ashlearose13



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Witches, ashlea and cheree nation unite, technically its friends to lovers to enemies to lovers, this took us months
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archers_and_spies/pseuds/archers_and_spies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashlearose13/pseuds/ashlearose13
Summary: Clint’s mission is simple: stop the evil witch who’s apparently been terrorising cities along the East coast for months now. What he finds instead is Natasha Romanoff (aka the most gorgeous human Clint has ever met).
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	i never watch the stars (there's so much down here)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScarlettShel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettShel/gifts).



> this au was the result of me (cheree) shouting “CLINTNAT AU” on the 25th of June and we were supposed to publish it yesterday on halloween but we simply did not make it 😔 also because i am a MINOR i have to clarify that i did not TOUCH the sex scene oNCE IT WAS ALL ASHLEA. n e way ashlea and i have compiled a list of stuff we were preoccupied with to show y’all we are not kidding. take it away ashlea:  
> \- i literally moved out  
> \- cheree had (has?) a fever for over a week  
> \- cheree was working on huntingbird and ashlea’s birthday fic  
> \- i was working on christmas fic  
> \- cheree has two tests next week  
> \- i had some pretty bad breakdowns  
> \- cheree has not started the homework due today  
> \- new nat content threw us for a loop  
> \- cheree got a flu shot and couldn’t type for an hour  
> \- i got a kitten (named liho!)  
> \- i almost passed out at work bc low b12  
> \- i got trapped in the window at work 3 times in one week  
> \- cheree has 5 tutorials this week  
> \- i was house sitting for my aunty 
> 
> enjoy !! 🥰

☾ ☀ 

There’s something to be said about the simple, natural way of things. The invisible orbit the earth follows, the scarlet shade that trees transform into during fall and the way fire burns until all that’s left are ashes. Human life is even simpler. It begins, it ends and sometimes there’s nothing in-between except regret and bad decisions, but Fury has seen enough of the world to know that this is the truth of how it works: people live their ordinary lives until the day they _stop_ living, and then their friends mourn them until the day their name is uttered for the last time.

There’s always an exception, and Fury knows this too. Try as he might and contrary to popular belief, he can’t see _everything_ , and people of all ages, from all places, slip through the cracks as easily as sand through fingers. Years later, he’ll wonder where he was, what he was doing. Who needed him _more_ that day? Who needed him more than a little girl in a cold, dark room, her tiny fists clenched by her sides, defiant even as her knees trembled? 

When she’s inevitably asked, one leg winding around thin sheets as she listens to her archer breathe, Natalia will say that she doesn’t remember her time in that cold, dingy cell. She’ll tell him softly that her childhood is a blur of memories that she can’t be sure are real, and if there ever _was_ a cell then she can’t be sure she spent time in it. He might believe her, for a second. He’ll kiss the top of her hair softly and it might be enough to make the pain stop.

What she won't tell him is that she remembers _all of it_ , despite years of trying to forget—how she clenched her fists by her sides, chin lifted defiantly even as her body shook. How she didn’t cry when they grabbed her arms and pinned her to the wall, forcing a syringe into the crook of her neck. Her pupils had dilated and wisps of gold energy had gathered around her fingertips and she _doesn’t remember_ , except for when she does.

She hadn’t been able to control it back then. Her hands had trembled and the magic had grown fiercer and darker; she had held on until the end, fighting every inch of the way, but the liquid coursing through her veins was far too strong for a little girl who was already sick and scared. She almost cried. She almost screamed. 

She remembers the explosion of energy, the pain that still makes her bones ache years later. The men had been flung into the opposite wall and she’d fallen in a heap, engulfed in a haze of smoke that stung her nose and made her eyes water. She remembers the smell, the feeling, the _pain_ , every tiny detail that went into making her the person she is now. She had been gasping for breath, lungs burning, when Madame walked in. Madame—she remembers Madame most of all, but she won't tell him that, won’t tell him how that cruel face haunts her every nightmare.

“You are made of marble, Natalia,” Madame had said, surveying the motionless bodies with a hint of approval in her eye. “Not easily broken. We’ll have use for you yet.”

She doesn’t remember her time in that cold, dark cell. Except for when she does.

☀ ☾

> sometimes, i think of the sun and the moon as lovers who rarely meet, always chase, and almost always miss one another. but once in a while they do catch up, and they kiss, and the world stares in awe of their eclipse.

—unknown

☾ ☀

Humans are weird. Clint doesn’t understand why they do the things they do, like smelling old books and favouring one hand over the other. It’s mundane, something that’s not required for their survival, and yet he’s seen at least five people stop to smell the roses in the garden box by the apartment. Maybe these are the little things that make their little lives worth living, though Clint doesn’t understand that either. He’s never been _human_ for this long before.

Acting is easy enough, though. It’s not hard to pretend to enjoy bitter coffee when you actually do enjoy it, and the pizza on Earth is the best thing he’s ever eaten bar none. Plus, he gets to keep his dumb dog Lucky, and living in a small apartment building gives him a good excuse to spend most of his days outside, basking in the cool fall air and watching different people pass by, each one seemingly more insignificant than the last.

He’s mid-step out of his door, Lucky’s leash (not that he needs it) tangled around one hand and terribly bitter coffee in the other, when he first lays eyes on her.

Clint’s mission is simple: stop the evil witch who’s apparently been terrorising cities along the East coast for months now. It’s a get-in, get-out kind of job, though not something that Fury usually concerns himself with. He just has to stop her, and then he’ll be straight on his way back to Heaven before he can even say _Lucifer Morningstar_ in an obnoxious British accent.

What his mission does _not_ involve is the elusive next-door neighbour he’s finally meeting for the first time. Her hair is piled atop her head in a mess of fiery red curls, her eyes are sharp enough to cut glass, and she’s got a black cat curled against her chest that makes Lucky forget exactly what kind of heavenly creature he’s supposed to be. The cat hisses, and Clint’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Hi,” the woman says, voice rich like honey and dripping with every sin Clint grew up being warned about. “Sorry. I don’t make a habit of bringing my cat outside.”

“It’s okay,” Clint says. “My dog is not usually so…”

He doesn’t quite know how to finish that sentence, the new heart he was granted pounding in his ears. Lucky whines pathetically and Clint thinks he might just send him back if he can't get his act together. The coffee has somehow ended up on his shirt, leaving a dark stain on his chest that the woman’s eyes flicker to immediately.

“Vinegar and water,” she says softly. “Should do the trick. Or baking soda and a toothbrush, if all else fails.”

“Thanks,” Clint says. “I’m, uh, Clint. Your neighbour, I guess.”

He mentally kicks himself for not being able to keep his cool, but the woman just smiles slightly. “I’m Natasha. Your neighbour.”

“Yea,” Clint swallows. “Um. I gotta take my dog for a walk but I guess… Well, I might see you around.”

“I’m sure of it,” Natasha replies, and continues into her own apartment without looking back.

Clint’s mission is simple: kill the witch. His mission does _not_ involve the cute neighbour with the nice eyes and the big lips, the neighbour who he kind of wants to get to know better. There’s a spark of energy in the air that makes him want to follow her inside. He’s almost tempted to knock on her door until he remembers that human women generally _don’t_ like being harassed by men they’ve just met.

So instead, he gathers Lucky’s leash again and skips down the stairs to the front door, thinking for once not of his mission, but of the human who seems infinitely more fascinating than anything else on Earth.

☀ ☾

Clint stumbles back into the apartment block sometime past six with a soggy pizza box and at least three new stains to match the dark coffee spot on his chest. Lucky starts barking at the door before they even reach the top of the stairs and Clint shushes him, feeling around his pockets for the key. “Easy, easy,” he mutters, inserting it into the lock. “I promise I’ll feed you something other than pizza. If I were you, though, I wouldn’t be complaining—”

Lucky doesn’t move, sitting on the welcome mat outside the door even after it’s open. Clint tugs on his leash. “Come on,” he urges while Lucky starts growling quietly. “What’s wrong?”

He peers into the apartment and flicks the light switch on. Something hisses at him, and he starts at the sight of a black cat—Natasha’s cat— _Liho_ on his kitchen counter. The carton of milk he’d left on it has toppled over, and after she finishes hissing at him, she continues licking it off of the counter.

“Um, hey,” Clint says slowly, edging nearer to the cat, pulling Lucky along and closing the door gently behind him. He’s definitely more of a _dog_ angel than a _cat_ angel, and so he sees it as a personal win when Liho straightens back up instead of launching and attacking him.

“Shouldn’t you be with, uh… Natasha?” He asks, pretending to have to think to remember her name as if it hasn’t been at the forefront of his mind for the whole day. As if a cat would even understand social cues.

Her name does seem to have some effect on Liho, though. She hisses at Clint again, and he resists the urge to take a step back. 

“Listen, buddy,” Clint starts. “I—” An idea strikes him, and he goes over to the door to open it again. “Here. Natasha’s apartment is just next to…”

He sighs when Liho stays as still as a statue, his idea obviously failing. “Liho, you’ve gotta give me something to work with. I’m tired, Lucky’s hungry, and I really don’t want to have to knock on Natasha’s door and explain why I’ve got her cat,” he says, relishing the feeling of his heart speeding up just at the thought of seeing her again. _Angels don’t have hearts_.

“For reasons,” he finishes lamely.

He waits another twenty seconds in silence before groaning. “Alright, fine,” he says. “You can stay awhile. Drink all my milk; you think I care?”

At that, Liho bends back down to keep licking at the milk. “I’ll keep the door open,” Clint grumbles. “Whenever you wanna leave—be my guest.”

It’s right then when a string of knocks come from the door, and Clint whirls around to see Natasha with a concerned frown on her beautiful face, and she’s talking fast, too fast—

“Clint. I don’t know where—she just disappeared, and—have you seen Liho?”

Not really knowing what else to do, he gestures to the counter, stepping aside so Natasha can see. When she does, she lets out a sigh of relief and rushes to Liho, gathering her into her arms. Liho nuzzles her shirt.

“Stars, Liho, you can’t just t—you can’t just run off like that,” she scolds gently. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, Clint.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Of course. Um, I didn’t steal her or anything, I swear.”

“I don’t think that at all. It’s kind of Liho’s thing, to somehow appear elsewhere suddenly. I don’t really understand it either.”

Liho hisses at Clint, and Natasha says, “ _Hey._ Don’t do that. I wouldn’t have found you if it weren’t for him.”

“Oh, and she was—” Clint turns his head to look at the spilt milk, and Natasha groans.

“Liho,” she says, exasperated. “Clint, I really am so sorry. I’ll pay for a new carton. What brand do you—”

“No, it’s okay,” Clint interrupts. “I just—have you been giving her enough milk? Is that—or maybe your milk’s expired, or something?”

He watches Natasha’s confused frown drain out of her face, like she’s realising something for the first time. “ _Oh._ Of course. I’m so stupid. I should’ve known...” She looks back up at him again. “Expired milk. I think you might be right.”

She walks towards the open door with Liho in her arms, the same way he’d met her for the first time that morning, then turns back. “Thank you, Clint.” She rushes forward to kiss his cheek, but he blinks and she’s back under the doorway again. “I’ll be back with your carton of milk soon,” she smiles, and he doesn’t even have to look in a mirror to know he’s blushing.

“You don’t have to—” he begins, but she’s already disappeared and closed the door behind her. He sinks onto the couch, somehow feeling even more tired than before despite his heartbeat thundering like drums in his chest. Lucky climbs onto his lap and stares at him.

Clint scoffs. “What?”

☾ ☀

Humans spend most of their lives working, Clint realises, sometime during his third week on Earth. He watches people enter office complexes in the type of clothing that just makes him itch, and they generally don’t leave until it’s dark and cold outside. It doesn’t look enjoyable, and he’s vaguely reminded of Hell every time he sees a briefcase on the street. Not that he has to _worry_ about working a nine to five, though. Heaven doesn’t need accountants.

Natasha doesn’t work either. He sees her sometimes, going to the bodega in the morning with a scarf thrown hastily around her neck, but most times he can hear her inside through the paper-thin walls. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, Liho will sneak into his apartment and she’ll come over with a smile and an eye-roll, and he’ll get to ask her about her day. Not once has she mentioned work, and Clint might think it was weird if he knew just a little more about how human society functions. He knows a lot, but he’s not _God_.

But still, when he returns from taking out the trash to find that Liho has somehow entered his locked apartment, he just shakes his head. “Where’s Natasha, huh?”

She appears out of thin air behind him, one hand raised as if to knock on the doorframe. “I’m so sorry, Clint.”

“Don’t apologise,” he assures her. “Mi casa is Liho’s casa, or whatever. Come in, don’t just stand there.”

Natasha hesitates for barely a second, but it’s a second that Clint notices. She has dark bags under her eyes that he’s never paid attention to before, and the overwhelming urge to ask her if she’s okay almost floors him. He doesn’t, though, just watches her march up to Liho and scoop the hissing creature into her arms. He’s never been much of a cat person (angel), and Liho isn’t helping her case.

“I’ve got more milk for you!” Natasha declares suddenly, closing her eyes briefly and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let me get it.”

“Don’t be silly,” Clint tries to tell her. She’s leaving his apartment faster than he can get his words out, so he jogs to catch up to her. “Natasha, it’s milk. I don’t even drink that much anyway.”

He waits in the doorway of her apartment, unsure if he’s welcome to enter. Something crunches under his foot and he looks down to see a white, granulated substance spread out in a thick line just beyond the door frame. The room smells surprisingly old and musty, like smoke is clinging to the little furniture he can see. He wants to step in for some unknown reason, feels something pulling him in like a magnet, but then she’s back in front of him with a carton in each hand and it’s like he drops back to reality.

“Milk,” she says triumphantly. “I, uh, bought two. So you can keep one for Liho if she gets in again.”

“Oh,” Clint says a little awkwardly, not quite sure how to respond, and something that looks a lot like panic passes over Natasha’s face.

“Don’t worry about the milk. I’m… That was presumptuous of me. Just pretend I never said it and I’ll make sure my cat doesn’t escape—”

“It’s fine,” Clint tells her. He takes the milk cartons and gives her his most angelic smile. “Look, we’re neighbours, so I expect to run into you from time to time. I don’t mind if Liho is snooping around. Besides, it means I get to know you a little better.”

Natasha frowns. “You want to get to know me better?”

“Yea,” Clint shrugs, thankful that human hearts can't _literally_ jump out of chests. “You’re probably the best neighbour I’ve ever had.”

“Oh,” Natasha says softly. The frown lifts slightly at the corners until she’s almost smiling, and Clint feels some kind of _something_ flutter in his stomach. “I won’t be a stranger, then.”

“I hope not,” he says a little too quickly. His eyes flick down as he notices movement by her feet, and then Liho is sinking her teeth into his ankle before he can step back. “Oh _shit_.”

“Liho,” Natasha chides, mortified, but the black cat has already darted out the door and disappeared into the hallway. She bends down to inspect the tiny bite and he does the same, wincing as he prods at it. There’s a reason they don’t have cats in Heaven. “I can't believe she did that. This is too much.”

“It’s fine,” Clint says easily. “She’s just a cat. I stink of dog. We’re not meant to be friends.”

“I have something…” Natasha begins, then seemingly decides not to finish her sentence. She keeps her hands tucked under her knees and after a beat starts to lose her balance, tipping forward slightly. Her hand darts out to catch herself on the doorframe at the same moment that Clint reaches for her arm, and the world seems to stop turning for a moment.

There’s a spark of something between them when Clint’s fingers touch her skin. He feels it jolt all the way down to his toes, like every fibre of his being has been set on fire. Natasha gasps and flinches, and he tries to pull away but she leans in slightly, features stuck between pain and relief. He doesn’t know if she feels what he does, but he lets his fingers linger on her arm and pretends not to notice the shaky breath she desperately draws in.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She stands quickly, arms winding around her midsection. Clint stands too and takes a step back, giving her space. “I’m just tired.”

He doesn’t tell her that he noticed, instead lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Nothing to apologise for. Speaking from experience, an afternoon nap isn’t just for babies and old people.”

She smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll have to try it out sometime.”

Natasha’s eyes wander over his face for a moment, and he fights the urge to pull her into a hug. Something about the way she had reacted to his touch doesn’t sit right with him, but he’s not about to bring it up when he barely knows the woman. He’s not about to bring it up when he barely knows _any_ human woman.

“If you need any help finding Liho, just holler,” he tells her. “Or knock on the wall. We could communicate in Morse code, you know.”

“You’re different,” Natasha declares suddenly, and for a split, heart-stopping second he thinks that he’s been found out. Her eyes pierce his so fiercely that he’s sure she can see right through his mask and into his soul. “People think I’m weird.”

“People think I’m weird, too,” Clint says, even though not enough people have met him in this form for it to be an accurate statement. “I think you’re neat.”

His cheeks warm and Natasha laughs, the sound shooting like Cupid’s arrows straight into his heart. “You’re neat too. I better go find this cat.”

“Yea,” he says softly, stepping aside so she can leave her apartment. He smells lavender on her skin and notices for the first time the chain that dangles from her neck, the pendant inscribed with something he can't quite read. “Like I said, don’t be shy.”

“I won't,” she replies. “Thank you.”

Natasha is gone before he can even blink, footsteps echoing in his ears. He sighs and heads back to his own apartment, taking the milk straight to the fridge so it doesn’t spoil. His bow taunts him from where he’s set it against the wall, reminding him of his _real_ job, but he ignores it just like he has every other day. Lucky whines and Clint follows the sound into the bedroom, where he finds his giant dog spread out on the bed, a black spot curled against his side.

Clint frowns. “What the fuck, Lucky?”

From her place beside the dog, Liho lifts her head and winks.

☀ ☾

Clint feels like he’s close. He has an inkling of something; a feeling that creeps down his spine sometimes, almost like he’s being watched, but every time he turns around there’s no one there. He suspects it’s the witch the same way he suspects Lucky has somehow learnt to open the front door to let Liho in, which only serves to make him feel even more paranoid than usual, but still. The witch is closer than she’s been before. Or perhaps he’s only just noticing her energy for the first time.

He feels the beginning of it as he bounds up the apartment steps with a pint of Moose Tracks ice cream for Natasha. Fury once described it as the human equivalent of a headache, but Clint’s not sure it can really compare. There’s a dull, throbbing pain at the base of his neck that sometimes makes his eyes water and a taste in his mouth that screams of sin. During the day the adrenaline high leaves him breathless, and he feels like he could catch her if he just walked a little faster down the street. During the night, the crash hits hard, and it takes everything left in him to crawl into bed.

His time on Earth hasn’t necessarily been wasted, though. He’s made somewhat of a friend in Natasha, if their pizza and movie nights every Friday are anything to go by. He sees her more often than not these days and tells himself he’s not getting distracted. It’s her cat's fault, anyway. Liho is too sneaky for her own good.

Friday night is his favourite night of the week, though, last-minute ice cream runs included. Natasha has a sweet tooth and a smile that sends him right to his knees like worshippers in church (even though he’s definitely _not_ getting distracted). He opens the door with flushed cheeks and a corny joke he thought of in the middle of the bodega to find her asleep on his couch, Lucky eyeing her critically from his place on the floor.

Clint frowns at the dog. “Contrary to popular belief, that isn’t actually your couch.”

Lucky doesn’t answer, and Clint shakes his head as Liho peeks out from underneath Natasha’s arm. He had been quick at the bodega, not even stopping to pet the dog that had been tied up out the front, though he’s noticed that this sometimes just happens with Natasha. She’s often exhausted at night, too, or even occasionally during the day, but this is the first time she’s actually fallen asleep in his apartment before.

He considers the situation in front of him for a moment, then decides that his best course of action is to put the ice cream in the freezer first. He stares at her again and Lucky whines, but none of it helps. Natasha is still asleep and he’s not entirely convinced that waking her is a good idea.

“Natasha?” He tries, then clears his throat and speaks up. “Natasha?”

Liho hisses at him. Clint hisses back, then moves to stand beside the couch instead. He reaches out one finger and tentatively pokes at her shoulder, as though he’s waking a lion and not a human woman. He pokes her again, feels a zap of electricity shoot up his arm.

Natasha startles awake, forehead creased in confusion. “What—” 

“You fell asleep,” Clint explains quickly. “Sorry I took so long with the ice cream. I ran as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” Natasha says softly, eyebrows still pulled into a frown. She yawns and he watches her eyelids flutter as she clearly tries to fight her exhaustion. “Sorry I’m tired.”

“We need to stop saying sorry,” Clint whispers. He’s convinced that Natasha is about to fall back asleep and he’s just standing beside her like a moron. He hesitantly sits at the end of the couch, lifting her feet to drape over his lap. She sighs, the sound long and full of relief. “You can just stay here, I don’t care.”

“Mmm,” Natasha hums, then quickly pulls her legs away from him. She shudders and he wants to reach out to her, suddenly, and tell her that he doesn’t mind. Liho squeezes out from under her arm and settles herself on Natasha’s thighs like a warning. Clint rolls his eyes but listens.

The sound of Natasha’s soft breaths fill the apartment. Clint lets out his own deep breath and rubs absently at his head, fingers pressing into the throbbing pain that’s making its way across his temples. The movie is only half-way done but his eyes burn from the brightness. Human bodies suck.

After turning the television off, he lets himself fall asleep too, wondering fleetingly what it’ll be like to wake up next to Natasha’s warm body.

☾ ☀

Except he doesn’t. Sometime in the night Natasha has crept back to her own apartment, so that by the time the first rays of sunlight warm his forehead he’s only got Lucky to greet him and a swell of disappointment in his chest. He brushes it off and moves aimlessly around the apartment, kicking aside an assortment of dirty clothes and Lucky’s toys as he goes. He pulls his bow out of the closet and stares at it for longer than necessary. The apartment is bordering on untidy, but Clint’s never had to actually _clean_ before.

It stings a little to know that Natasha left, even if there’s no good reason that she would stay in the first place. Clint’s been earth-side for nearly two months and half that time has been spent getting to know her. And he _does_ know her, more than he even really knows his own new body. He knows that Liho is her world and that she doesn’t let anyone into her apartment and that her favourite drink is green tea with jasmine. He’s confident in calling her his friend now; he just hopes that she feels the same way.

There’s an apple for breakfast and not much else, so he decides to start his day a little earlier than usual and cons Lucky into a walk with a heart-shaped dog treat. He steps out into the still-cool air and lets the thought of a warm coffee guide him down the building’s staircase.

“Clint?”

He almost doesn’t hear her, but he can’t deny that he _feels_ her presence behind him a second before she appears on the staircase. She has her favourite green scarf wrapped around her neck and her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. She looks well-rested, more so than he would have expected of someone who spent half a night on the couch.

“Oh, hey,” he says. There’s not much else _to_ say, so he lets her fall into step beside him as they make their way onto the street. “I’m going for coffee.”

“I didn’t mean to leave last night,” Natasha says in a rush. She glances at him and then looks down, shoulders hunched. “Well, I did. But it’s… It’s not because I don’t feel comfortable with you.”

Clint thinks that that’s probably a weird thing to say, but he shrugs it off. “It’s fine. Honestly, I wouldn’t expect _anyone_ to sleep on my couch. It’s lumpy.”

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Natasha says. “People don’t usually do that.”

“You mustn’t know very nice people then,” Clint frowns.

Natasha is quiet for a moment. Then, she lifts one shoulder in a shrug, red curls dancing down her back. “No, I guess I don’t.”

They fall into a silence that Clint wouldn't immediately label as _comfortable_ , but it’s enough to get them to the closest Starbucks. Natasha volunteers to hold Lucky while he goes inside to order, and he watches them carefully through the window while he waits for his coffee to be ready. Lucky sits intently at Natasha’s feet, looking up at her with the kind of adoration Clint has only seen when pizza’s around. 

The feeling comes back to him, then, slamming into him all at once. He catches himself on a table before his knees buckle under the weight of it, but the second he’s recovered he’s moving around the small cafe, desperately trying to catch sight of the witch that he _knows_ has to be here. There’s no other explanation for the adrenaline he feels pumping through his body, the way his spine tingles and his head pounds. He bumps into someone accidentally and the world crashes into focus around him again.

“Clint?” The barista calls, and he spins around to find everyone looking at him. The feeling passes and he sheepishly goes to collect his coffee, unable to meet anyone’s gaze as he leaves. Natasha gives him an odd look when he takes Lucky’s leash from her and he wishes, fleetingly, that the world would open up and swallow him whole. Human embarrassment is his least favourite emotion.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Natasha comments. “Everything okay?”

“What are you doing?” Clint asks before he can stop himself. Just because the feeling has left doesn’t mean that the accompanying headache has, and not for the first time he wishes he could just switch his brain off.

Natasha falters, features turning down into an expression that breaks his heart. “I’ll go home.”

“No,” he hurries to explain, and stops walking. He grabs her arm and swings her around to face him, keeping his hand there to see what she’ll do. “Sorry. I don’t want you to leave, Natasha. This is the first time you’ve come for a walk with me, though.”

Natasha’s eyes remain fixed firmly on his hand. He thinks she might brush him off but she’s so tense that he honestly can’t get a read on her. He loosens his already gentle grip and watches the relief that folds itself into her expression. She wants his touch, he thinks, but she’s clearly not used to it.

“You walk every day,” she says eventually. “I just thought I might keep you company. I don’t have much to do today either, so…”

“Cool,” Clint grins. He lets her go and they start walking again, close enough to nearly be brushing shoulders. “I was thinking of inviting you, actually.”

“Oh yea?” Natasha asks. “Were you worried I would say no?”

“Not really,” he admits. “I was worried I was being like, I don’t know. Creepy or something.”

She laughs and the sound is like angel bells ringing in Heaven. “You’re not creepy at all. In fact, I’ve never really felt this comfortable around anyone before. When I was a child I—”

Clint doesn’t ask her to finish her sentence. She gasps like she’s been hit and then offers him a weak smile, and he thinks that it’s probably all he’ll ever get from her on the topic. He doesn’t mind that she might have secrets, because he has them too; secrets that are big enough to change the course of the world if anyone found out. There’s so much riding on his shoulders that he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to carry it.

“I’m about to take Lucky to the dog park,” he says. “He’s not very good at being a normal dog, so I like to pretend that the others are being a good influence. You’re welcome to come and sit with me, if you want?”

“That would be nice,” Natasha agrees. “Liho will think I’m a traitor.”

“That cat thinks the _world_ of you. She might be disappointed, but she’ll get over it the second she hears your voice.”

Natasha sighs. “I guess. I’m very grateful to have a fa—a _cat_ like Liho.”

“So it’s a dog-park-date?” Clint says, then scrambles to explain. “I mean, it’s not a _date_ but like, you know. Two people going to the dog park—”

“It’s a dog-park-date,” Natasha agrees with a smile that makes his heart stutter. “Lead the way, Romeo.”

☀ ☾

The dog park is loud and busy by the time they arrive. Clint lets Lucky off the leash and pulls his favourite squeaky toy from his pocket, giving it an experimental squeeze that has the dog jumping in circles with excitement. Natasha laughs as Lucky skids after the toy and follows Clint over to a bench underneath a tree.

“It’s his favourite,” Clint explains. “He’s had it for so long I’m surprised it still squeaks. That’s why I made sure to have it with me when I brought him down from h—I mean, when I adopted him.”

“Aww, you adopted him? That’s nice. You’re… nice.” She clears her throat like she’s telling herself to be quiet. “Liho was a stray but she wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to feed a stray?” Clint teases.

Natasha freezes for a split second, a shadow crossing her face. Clint’s heart drops and he worries if he’d said the wrong thing, but then she quickly shrugs it off. “I used to think Liho was so annoying. Impossible to shake. But then she grew on me, and she’s been living with me ever since I—” She freezes again, then finishes, “ever since I moved for the first time.”

“Cute,” Clint says, though it doesn’t seem like the right thing to say. He’s still stuck on whatever that _look_ was and why it made her appear so haunted. “Animals have a way of choosing us, I think.”

He’s still not entirely sure how he wound up with Lucky, of all dogs, but he’s grown used to the strange behaviours by now. Maybe it was Fury’s idea of a joke to give him a puppy that would grow up to be exactly like him: pizza obsessed and almost _too_ friendly. 

Lucky drops his toy by Natasha’s feet and she picks it up hesitantly before swinging her arm back and throwing it for him. He barks as he runs after it, weaving between other dogs as he goes. The toy is bright purple and stands out easily, even from a distance. Losing toys is not an option when it comes to Lucky. 

“You might be right about that,” Natasha says softly. “Do you bring Lucky here often?”

“I try to as much as possible, but it can be hard to fit it in.” Clint shrugs and casts his eyes out over the park, watching the different dogs interact with each other. “He’s pretty active so it’s not really fair to keep him cooped up in the apartment.”

“I didn’t even know there _was_ a park for dogs. It’s nice to just… watch them.”

Clint agrees. He’s spent so much time sitting at the dog park that he’s surprised Fury hasn’t written him up for it yet, but still. His dog _does_ need exercise and it gives him a good excuse to watch all of the different people pass by. The witch is closer than ever, but Clint still hasn’t found any solid evidence to report back to Fury, and he knows that he’s running out of time. 

They sent him because he never misses. And it’s true, despite the lack of luck with his current case. Usually Clint is in and out so quickly that he doesn’t have time to learn that human toes can be _stubbed_. And now it’s been a month or two of zero leads and a headache that only grows by the day, and he’s not sure that he’ll actually be able to finish the job. For the first time that he can remember, Clint is actually _worried_.

A soft bark comes from Clint’s feet, and he looks down to see Lucky waiting impatiently with the toy resting on the ground next to his shoes. He barks again in annoyance and Clint half-heartedly bends down to pick it up. This time around he throws it a little farther, definitely not because he’s trying to buy time for his and Natasha’s conversation.

“He brought it back!” Natasha exclaims, a new kind of excitement lighting up her eyes. “Does he do that all the time?”

“Most times,” Clint answers, unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face when he looks at her. “Sometimes he gets lazy, and I have to go find it myself. Speaking of… where _has_ he gone?”

Clint stands up and walks into the crowd of dogs with Natasha a step behind him, trying not to trip over any of them. Lucky is big and yellow and fluffy, so he’s generally not hard to miss, but Clint isn’t able to spot him in the sea of barking fur. He doesn’t let himself panic yet. If all else fails, Lucky will come back for pizza.

“Over there?” Natasha points, and relief fills Clint so suddenly that he’s momentarily left breathless. He can just make out Lucky’s tail from behind a tree and catches the second a squirrel scampers up the branch. “Oh. I guess he chased a squirrel.”

“Lucky,” Clint chastises as he nears him, though there’s no real venom behind his voice. He clips the lead back onto the dog’s collar and pulls him away from the tree, ruffling his ears as he surveys the base of the trunk for his toy, which is nowhere to be seen. “What happened to your toy, huh?”

Lucky whines and Clint realises with a shock that he’s actually lost the toy. Natasha walks around the tree but shakes her head when she stops by them again. This is uncharted territory. Lucky has _never_ been without his favourite squeaky toy.

“Oh, man,” Clint groans. “I didn’t even see which way I threw it.”

“I didn’t either, sorry,” Natasha says. “Poor Lucky. Another dog could have picked it up.”

“Thieves,” Clint mutters. “Can’t trust a poodle, Nat. Let that be a lesson for us all.”

Natasha stares at him, expression guarded. “Nat?”

“Natasha,” Clint says quickly, mentally kicking himself for thinking that they were at a point in their friendship where he could give her a nickname without asking. “Sorry. Slipped out.”

“No one’s called me that before,” she tells him, then shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

He lets out a breath. “Okay. That’s good.”

Natasha smiles, and before he can even blink she’s moving towards him, lips pressing against his cheek so delicately that it reminds him of raindrops on a fresh morning. “Thank you for today. I should probably go; I have to get groceries for Liho and I.”

“Um,” Clint says, unable to stop himself from reaching up to press his fingers against the place that her lips had just been. “Yea. Thanks for, uh, coming. I enjoyed your company.”

Clint has never been happier to know that humans can’t _actually_ die of embarrassment. Natasha just smiles again, cheeks tinted slightly pink as she ducks past him on her way out of the dog park. Lucky pulls after her for a second and then settles at Clint’s side, watching her leave. Clint doesn’t really want to go yet because he’s still not convinced that the toy won’t just appear out of thin air, but after a few minutes he leaves too, taking note of how the afternoon sun isn’t hanging as high as it had been when they arrived.

He’s barely made it around the corner when he first gets the feeling, so strong that it stops him in his tracks. His head begins to ache but the feeling is so very clearly leading him somewhere that he can’t ignore it. He lets instinct take over and walks almost blindly, only recognising the shiver that creeps up his spine the closer he gets.

The feeling leads him to his apartment. He looks around but he’s the only one in the hallway, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Lucky scratches desperately at the door so Clint lets him in, casting his eyes down the hall one last time before he enters too. He feels like he’s being watched despite the fact that he’s clearly not. He closes the door behind him and locks it, just to be sure.

When he turns around he’s not prepared for the sight that greets him. Lucky is sitting happily on the couch, ears perked as he stares intently at something on the counter. Clint approaches it slowly, trying to make out the shape from a distance. He almost expects Liho to leap out from somewhere in the kitchen and attack him.

It’s not Liho. It’s not anything that he had left lying around, because the last time he had seen the purple ball had been only half an hour or so ago, at the dog park. His breath catches in his throat and his hands shake as he realises why his gut feeling led him home.

There, in the middle of the kitchen counter, sits Lucky’s favourite squeaky toy.

☾ ☀

Around an hour passes before Clint hears Natasha’s muffled voice coming from beyond his door, probably talking to Liho. His head jerks up at the sound from where his gaze had been fixed on the toy on the counter. Neither Lucky nor Clint has dared to approach, touch or move it.

“Should I let Natasha know?” He asks Lucky. “This is weird. This is really, super, incredibly weird. And I’ve seen many weird things on this planet. You ever seen someone cry in the Philosophy section of a library? Because I have, Lucky, and it wasn’t pretty.”

Lucky tilts his head, and Clint stands up from the couch decisively. Reaching out towards the toy, he braces himself for it to explode or something, but it stays what it’s always been, even when it’s safely in his hands: a dog toy. With this out of the way, he still spends four minutes pacing behind his door, and then in front of Natasha’s.

“Hi,” he says when he finally knocks.

Natasha’s mouth is half open. “Hi, Clint.”

“It’s—it’s been a weird day,” Clint says, as in, _why am I even at your door right now_ , as in, _please don’t tell me to leave_.

But Natasha smiles, “Well then, come in so you can tell me all about it.”

She opens the door wider and turns to lead him in further. Stepping over the thick line of white substance spread before her door, Clint realises with a jolt that this is the first time he’s been in her apartment. The atmosphere is entirely different from his—instead of socks and empty pizza boxes strewn around, there’s an earthy scent in the air, thick books in tall shelves. It fills him up with a buzz he can’t put his finger on, kind of like the energy you get from drinking three cups of coffee in a row. (Clint would know.)

“Get off the couch,” Natasha’s saying, and it takes Clint a second to realise she’s not talking to him, even though he’s not even remotely close to the couch. “Liho, off.”

When Liho, stubborn as ever, stays right where she is, Natasha’s forced to pick her up like a brick and plant her back in her lap only after she herself is settled on the couch.

“This is a really nice place,” Clint says sincerely as he sits down next to her. “You’ve really made it… _yours_.”

“Thanks,” she says. “Though I’d have to argue that laundry everywhere you look and having at least one slice of pizza in the microwave at all times does do a pretty good job of reflecting your character too.”

“Oh. I—” Clint splutters. “I didn’t—am I really that messy? I haven’t—I mean, I’m still new, and getting used to things around here, and—” _And once I finish the mission, I’ll be gone in a blink of an eye anyway, so what does it matter?_

“Oh, no, Clint, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not judging or anything, I promise.” Natasha sighs, and continues. “I’m sorry. Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of people to talk to. I don’t really understand humans, or conversation, for that matter.”

“That’s okay,” Clint says, maybe a little too quickly. “Me too. It’s a good thing we’ve got each other, then.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees softly before her eyes drift down to the object in his hands. “Oh, hey, you found Lucky’s toy.”

“Lucky’s toy!” He exclaims. “That’s right. That’s—exactly what I came here to talk to you about. So I leave the dog park a few minutes after you do, sans dog toy, and when I come home, it’s right there on the kitchen counter.”

Natasha blinks. “Huh.”

He waits for a bigger reaction, “No, it’s—it’s weird, Natasha. Come on. I freaked out for an entire hour.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” she reasons. “Maybe Lucky hid it from you somehow and brought it home with him.”

“But when he saw it, he was afraid of it too.”

“You were afraid—” Natasha laughs incredulously, then stops when he doesn’t join in. “Sorry. Maybe a bird flew in, carrying it.”

“Our upstairs neighbour’s terrified of birds. He sprays his entire apartment with repellent every other day.”

“A breeze, then.”

“The windows were closed.”

“I don’t know, Clint,” she relents. “Maybe you should just take it as a win, and let it go.”

“Maybe,” he echoes. “I’m sorry, did you not want me here?”

“What? No, I—why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. _Let it go_ , as in, _you should go_?” Humans are so hard to read, and Clint usually wouldn’t care but this is _Natasha_.

“You should stay,” Natasha assures him. “That is, if you’ve got the time, I mean. You could stay for a cup of tea?” She looks at him, something that looks terrifyingly close to hope in her eyes. “Please?”

“Okay,” he says easily. “I’ll try a cup of tea.”

Natasha grins; soft, sweet, pleased that he decided to stay. It wasn’t a hard decision to make. He hopes she knows that she doesn’t need an excuse to ask him. He‘ll stay for her any day. 

“How do you like your tea?”

Clint lifts a shoulder. “Would you be surprised to find out that I’ve never really drank tea before? Like, ever?”

“Not at all,” Natasha says. “I’ve found that most Americans prefer coffee over tea.”

 _Except I’m not American,_ Clint thinks, then says, “You’re not from the States?”

“Russia, actually.” She stands and makes her way to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water from the tap. “I prefer tea. It calms me. Coffee makes my mag—my _hands_ shake.”

Clint barely notices her stumble, instead finding his attention once more drawn to the toy in his hands. The apartment is nice but he feels like there’s a current running through him, a collection of energy that almost makes the walls vibrate. The toy thing is weird and he’s not entirely sure there’s a _human_ explanation for it. 

“That’s no good,” he says absently. “Coffee is the best.”

He stands up too, unable to sit any longer when his head feels like it’s filled with static. He wonders over to the bookcase instead, admiring the huge, nameless books she has on the shelves. There’s an array of black crystals with sharp looking edges and he finds himself drawn to them, fingers itching to touch. 

Liho skitters from the couch with a howl that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He jumps, falling out of whatever trance he was in just as quickly as he entered it. Natasha scolds her but he can’t hear her over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Something is _off_. 

“Tea,” Natasha says, holding a cup out to him like her cat's behaviour is completely normal. “It’s black, I’m sorry. All my milk is off.”

“It’s okay. It’s how you’re supposed to drink it, right?”

“I like it this way,” she says, blowing delicately on the steaming liquid. “So, what will you do about the toy?”

“I’m not sure,” Clint says warily. He sits beside her again and avoids looking at the bookcase. “Lucky doesn’t even want to touch it. I just—I just don’t understand how it got there.”

“Stranger things have probably happened. Have you any plans for the weekend?”

The change in topic momentarily shakes Clint. He’s not sure if she’s asking to be polite or if she’s asking because she wants to ask _him_ something, but when he looks at her face he’s unable to tell. Her green eyes peek at him over the rim of her cup and he suddenly gets the stupid, thrilling urge to kiss her. 

“I saw a flyer for a carnival, actually,” he says slowly. “Out of town but I thought… well, it might be fun?”

“I’ve never been to a carnival,” she tells him. “What do you do there?”

Clint’s never been to a carnival either, but he saw enough of the flyer to tell a pretty convincing lie. “There’s rides and food, like really fried food that makes you feel sick later. And there’s a ferris wheel!”

“Sounds fun,” Natasha says, and when she brings the tea back to her lips he finds himself doing the same, letting the taste of honey slide down his throat. “Do you like it?”

“This is actually really good,” he says. “Maybe you’ve converted me.”

Natasha laughs and it sounds like angel bells. “Maybe.”

“Come to the carnival with me. It’s Friday night so we can go instead of watching a movie. I mean, we can still watch a movie, I’m not—I’m not trying to say that I don’t _want_ to watch a movie with you—”

“I would love to,” Natasha interrupts. “It sounds really fun.”

“It will be,” Clint breathes. Through the paper-thin walls he hears the sound of something from within his apartment smashing, and then Lucky’s feet scampering across the floorboards. “Ah shit. I should probably go see what my dumb dog has broken now.” 

Natasha deflates a little, shoulders curling in on herself. He feels it like a knife to the heart and quickly gulps the rest of his still hot tea, not wanting her to feel like he didn’t like it when he genuinely did. He’s not sure what to say, if anything, to make her realise that he only wants to _stay_. 

“Let me know how it goes with the toy,” Natasha says, following him to the door. He takes a step outside and turns back to her, not ready to say goodbye yet. “If you have any leads, I mean.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Thank you for the walk earlier.”

“Thank you for the milk you insist on buying me.”

He moves a step closer without realising it, foot atop the grainy white substance at the edge of her door. Her eyes remain fixed on his, lips pulled up at the corners in a shy smile, and he feels his skin buzz in hope. One more step…

“Thank you for being my friend,” Natasha says softly. “Except—”

“Except,” he echoes, and the world around him shrinks until it’s just him and her and the space left between them, the space that he is _so close_ to closing. 

“I might want to kiss you,” she says, and Clint doesn’t wait. He meets her halfway. 

Her lips are soft, a little unsure at first before she relaxes, finally, and he thinks that nothing on Earth or in Heaven will ever compare to this feeling. He cups her cheek in the palm of his hand and she sighs into his mouth, relief making her lean into his touch. 

He wants to touch _more_ of her except he’s not sure that she’s ready, but when her fist curls into the front of his shirt and she deepens the kiss, just a little, he feels like he might float away. His head swims and it’s all too perfect until he moves again and there’s the distinctive sound of something crunching under his feet. 

They pull apart, breathless and flushed, and when Clint looks down he sees that his foot has created a gap in the white line in front of her door. He bends down to inspect it, rubbing the granules between his fingers until he realises that it’s _salt_. 

“Sorry,” Natasha says abruptly. When he stands up again he can detect a hint of fear in her eyes, and it looks out of place with her pink cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. “I forgot that I have an appointment.”

“Oh,” Clint says. “Shit, _I’m_ sorry for —”

“Don’t apologise. I’m… I liked that, really. But I have to go.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “I liked it too.”

She smiles but the new energy that she’s radiating has Clint wondering whether or not he made the right move. She seems anxious, all of a sudden, and he wants to ask her about why she has salt at her front door but she’s already halfway to closing it on him. 

“Is Friday…” she begins, then shakes her head as though she’s trying to dislodge a thought. “Is Friday still okay?”

“Of course,” Clint says. “I’ll meet you on your doorstep at 5pm, sharp.”

“Okay,” Natasha says. “It’s a date.”

He wants to reply but she closes the door before he can get the words out. He forgets what he was going to say, anyway, when he replays the last thirty seconds of their conversation back in his mind. He stares at the door and then at the toy that he still holds, sure that he is slowly losing his mind in this weird human body. 

Clint sighs and goes to his own apartment, trying to remove the thought from his mind, because for one startlingly long second, he could’ve sworn that Natasha’s hands on the doorknob had _glowed._

☀ ☾

Clint spends the week leading up to Friday avoiding thinking about Friday, which isn’t as easy as he had expected. He busies himself with trying to work out how Lucky’s favourite toy had magically appeared back inside his apartment and drinks far more coffee than is humanly necessary, and all the while he thinks about what he’ll say to Natasha when he sees her for the first time since the kiss.

It’s not like they’re ignoring each other. Clint just hasn’t seen her for a few days, and if he thinks about it he knows that it probably _is_ because of the kiss and the fact that he ruined a perfectly good friendship. Way to go, Barton. 

Natasha had, _technically_ , initiated it though. He’s so used to seeing her in his apartment or on the street waiting for him that he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself when she’s not there. He vaguely wonders if it has something to do with her weird salt line that he broke but doesn’t give it much thought; Natasha is strange and he’s not sure he’ll ever really understand her anyway, though whether or not she gives him the chance now is up for debate.

He likes her. He likes her awkward friendliness and the way that he feels almost at home on Earth in her presence. Heaven is heaven and it’s great, for a while, but even the most perfect things have their limits. Wings and immortality don’t compare to the way his human heart races at the sight of her face, the way his knees shake and his stomach fills with butterflies. Human life is mundane and a little pointless but it’s also, surprisingly, _beautiful_. It’s not beautiful in the ways that he is used to, but he sees it in her smile, in the crinkles around the corners of her eyes before she laughs, in the way that she leans a little closer to him whenever he touches her arm. 

Natasha has secrets. He knows that she does because she’s the only person he’s met that doesn’t offer much of herself in return. He appreciates that, if only because it means that nothing is expected of him, either. And even though they’re still going to the carnival together he feels like all of _this,_ all of the little moments that led to this feeling, have been for nothing. Clint thinks he finally understands what it feels to be nervous.

Still, he distracts himself by doing the job he was sent to do until it’s finally time to meet Natasha at her apartment door. His jeans and shirt are plain but clean and he ignores Lucky’s petulant whine as he leaves some extra food in his bowl. The dog still hasn’t touched his toy since they found it and for once Clint can’t blame him for being stubborn.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Clint assures him. “It’s just Natasha. Nothing has to have changed, okay?”

Lucky tilts his head. Clint realises that his words hold more significance for himself than they do the dog, and he feels a little ridiculous for being so worried. It _is_ just Natasha, and it’s not like he’ll be around for much longer anyway. If things don’t work out then Fury can just wipe her memory and call it a day, no blood spilled.

Even so, he can’t help the little twinge in his heart that comes with the thought.

There’s a knock at his door that startles him. He runs a hand through his hair and takes three big strides to answer it, not bothering to check the peephole. He knows it’s her, can feel the tug of energy that seems to appear whenever she’s around. He opens the door and she grins at him softly, and all of his fears melt away in the wake of her beauty.

“Hey,” he says. “You look, uh. Wow.”

Natasha flattens her hands over the black dress she’s wearing, smoothing out invisible creases. “Thank you. You look nice, too.”

 _Not even Apollo compares_ , he thinks. _You outshine the sun_.

The glint of the silver pendant against her throat breaks Clint out of his daze. He scoops up his jacket and follows her out the door, double-checking the lock only because he’s seen her do it before. She grins at him again and he can’t help himself, leaning in slowly to press his lips against hers even as his heart pounds in his chest. 

The sound she makes should be criminal, an exhale of breath as she kisses him back carefully. He almost thinks of cancelling the whole date in favour of standing in the hallway with her forever, but he’s conscious of the fact that _she_ had actually been excited for the rides. He pulls away with only a little hesitation and instead reaches for her hand, entwining their fingers.

“This okay?” he asks.

She jolts at his words, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Yes. People don’t usually ask.”

“Well, that’s kind of a shitty thing to do.”

He doesn’t push it when she doesn’t reply. Her hand is warm in his as they walk down the street, and it feels nice to just _be_ with someone other than his angelic dog. He was never supposed to make friends and a little voice in the back of his mind reminds him that whatever this is with Natasha is far more than friends now. 

“I had been wanting to kiss you for a while,” Natasha says suddenly. She keeps her gaze straight ahead and doesn’t falter even as Clint does, only dragging him along with her. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” Clint replies. “I, well… I kinda thought I had ruined our friendship or whatever.”

“By kissing me back?”

He shrugs and gestures vaguely in her direction. “No, I mean—a little, okay, but mainly because I didn’t see you all week and I thought… I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“I’ve been busy, Clint,” Natasha says softly. There’s nothing other than truth in her tone and Clint feels his shoulders relax just a little. “I had a few things I needed to do. But I… I missed talking to you.”

“You could always knock on the wall, you know,” he teases. 

“I was out of town,” Natasha says, and then seemingly changes her mind and presses her lips into a thin line. “It’s not important, anyway.”

“Okay,” Clint replies easily. “How was your appointment?”

They stop walking at the subway and Natasha pulls her hand away, crossing her arms over her chest instead. Clint catches sight of a kiosk and his mouth waters out of hunger, but he’s determined to eat one of everything at the carnival and the human stomach has so far been his biggest weakness. 

“Nothing gets by you,” Natasha says eventually. 

“Nope. I see everything.” 

Well, _almost_ everything. There’s still a witch that needs to be found and going to the carnival is extremely counter intuitive to his job, but he figures there hasn’t been any bad activity lately anyway. Before Fury sent him, the witch had been tearing the East coast apart, and now it’s like she’s fallen off the face of the planet. 

“It was fine,” she shrugs. “Any news on the mysterious reappearance of Lucky’s toy?”

“No,” Clint grumbles. They board the subway and sit side by side, knees touching and causing red hot sparks to shoot up his leg. “I even washed it, but Lucky still won’t go near it.”

“Strange,” Natasha murmurs. The carriage rattles as it makes its way along the track and Clint feels her elbow knock into his. “There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation, though.”

“I guess,” Clint shrugs. “You know, there’s gonna be a magician at the carnival.” 

“Magicians aren’t real.” 

Clint knows this, but he’s not about to ruin the illusion. “Of course they’re real. I love magicians.”

“Please,” Natasha scoffs. 

“What, you don’t believe in a little magic? Maybe that’s what brought Lucky’s toy back.”

The rattling of the carriage intensifies. Clint grips the bottom of his seat to keep himself from falling into Natasha’s lap, trying to decipher the strange look that crosses her face. He might even call it _fear_ , if she were easier to read. 

“Magicians use hand tricks to deceive you into seeing something that you want to believe,” she eventually says. “It’s as simple as that.”

“I’d like to see _anyone_ try to deceive me,” Clint challenges. “Nothing gets by me, remember?”

Natasha gives him a look and holds out her hand. “Give me a coin.”

“A coin?” he asks, even as he releases one of his hands from its vice-like grip on the seat and reaches into his pocket. “Why?”

“To prove a point,” she says. He looks at the coin in the palm of her hand and tries to keep his eyes on it as she flips it between her fingers. “It’s not real magic.”

She brings her hands together and then opens them, palms out, to reveal that the coin is no longer there. Her dress is sleeveless so he knows that she didn’t let it slide down her arm, and when he looks at her lap in case she dropped it the coin is still nowhere to be found. She smiles wickedly and brings her hand up to his ear, pulling back with the coin now held between her pointer finger and thumb.

“You were holding it the whole time,” Clint counters. “So it’s not real magic, whatever. You still couldn’t trick me.”

“Are you sure?”

Clint looks back at her hand, unable to stifle the surprised gasp that leaves his mouth when he notices the second coin nestled in her palm. He picks them both up and turns them over, as if there’s an instruction manual written on the back that will tell him exactly _how_ she managed to multiply the coin. 

“Huh,” he says. “So maybe you’re sneakier than I thought. Anyway, we should still watch at least one magic show.”

“Okay,” Natasha agrees. “But only if you take me on the ferris wheel.”

It’s not a hard deal to make—Clint likes being high up anyway. He notices that the carriage isn’t rattling anymore and relaxes into his seat again, the warmth from Natasha’s shoulder as she leans against him slightly warming him, too. Her hands shake in her lap, fingers twitching, and suddenly Clint feels a sharp pain in his temple that makes him squeeze his eyes shut. 

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, and he wants to tell her _no, but don’t worry, this is just a thing that happens sometimes when a witch is nearby._ He doesn’t, though, instead opening his eyes to give her a smile that he hopes appears genuine. “Clint?”

“Never better,” he lies easily. The pain dulls into a throbbing ache that he can deal with for now, but he still glances down the carriage, just in case. “We get off at the next stop.”

Natasha doesn’t look like she believes him, but she also doesn’t push it. The silence between them is comfortable and Clint finds himself reaching out for her hand again, encasing her trembling fingers in his. When they reach their stop he pulls her up and off the subway and they walk side by side beneath the glow of the full moon. He’s running out of time but it feels like the night is endless. 

“I’m excited,” Natasha says in a rush. “When I was a kid there was a circus that came once a year and I could hear the music from my room. I always wanted to go, but I…”

Clint glances at her as she trails off, his own smile fading in the wake of her frown. He can’t hear the music, yet, but he can smell the popcorn and it makes him walk just a little faster. He wants to show her the shooting game and take her on the ferris wheel just so he can kiss her when they stop at the top. If he doesn’t win a giant teddy bear for her then he might just send _himself_ back to Heaven.

“I wasn’t good enough,” she finishes softly, almost too softly for him to really understand. Then, she smiles again and squeezes his fingers, and he forgets that the whole conversation even happened. “What will we do first?”

“How about some games?” Clint asks. They reach the entrance and he pays for their pass, then buys a handful of tokens for them to share. “There’s a shooting game, actually.”

“Can you even hit a bullseye?” she teases. 

“As a matter of fact, yes. My friends call me Hawkeye, you know.”

“That’s kinda hot. Some people call me the Black Widow.”

Flirtatious comment aside, he feels like he should know what that name means. There’s an inkling at the back of his brain, a familiarity around it that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s seen enough of Fury’s Hell creatures to know that a black widow is also, technically, a spider, but there’s something that he’s missing. There’s something that he should _know_ , and the fact that he doesn’t makes his skin prick with frustration.

“Like the spider?” he settles on. “That’s an… interesting choice.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” she shrugs, strangely quiet. They stop in front of the shooting game and Clint accepts the plastic rifle from the carnie . Natasha leans against a post and gives him a not so subtle once over, and he feels more than anything the challenge in her gaze. “Okay, Hawkeye. Show me.”

The game is rigged but Clint knows how to beat it and besides, he _never_ misses. Each shot is precise and hits its intended target, even when he’s not really trying. He glances at Natasha and matches her smile as he aims and fires the last shot, ignoring the alarm that announces his win in favour of taking a step forward to peck her on the lips.

Her eyes are wide when he pulls away, but she recovers quickly. “Do you show this party trick to all the girls?”

“Nope,” he says, handing the gun back over. “Just for you. Go and pick a prize then.”

“Me?” Natasha asks, looking over the array of plush toys that are strung up on the opposite wall. Her eyes settle on a giant teddy bear for a second longer than anything else, and then she shakes her head. “You won. It’s your prize.”

“I won _for_ you. C’mon, pick. I swear I don’t want anything.”

Natasha hesitates again, then carefully points out the bear. The carnie takes it down and hands it over without making eye contact with Clint once, and between the two of them they manage to hoist the bear out of there before he can be accused of cheating. The fur is soft and even though Clint can’t imagine exactly where she’ll keep it, he thinks that it will add a nice touch to her apartment. 

“Thank you,” she says. “I could have won that myself, you know.”

“Oh really?” Clint asks. “You’re a good shot?”

“You could say that,” she says cryptically. “Maybe one day I’ll show you.”

 _One day_. It’s the suggestion that there’ll be more days that makes Clint’s heart feel like it’s going to jump out of his chest. He wants hundreds of days with Natasha, months and months of them if he could. He’ll have to leave eventually and the thought of it makes him sick now. He doesn’t want to leave her here. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says softly. “One day you’ll show me.”

They wander around the carnival hand in hand again, Natasha’s giant teddy bear tucked up under his arm. He eats two corn dogs and they share a funnel cake, spilling powdered sugar down the front of Natasha’s pretty dress, but she just laughs and drags him over to the next game until they’re lost in a sea of lights and loud music. 

He finds it surprising, in a way, to realise that he would follow her anywhere. She takes him between rides, parades him around the whole carnival with just a flick of her wrist and an invitation written in her eyes. Not many people can manage to look as terrifying as she can when holding a wooden mallet over a high striker game but all he sees is the smile when she wins, just for him.

“Fortune teller,” he says casually, pointing out the dilapidated tent. Natasha casts her eyes over it and shrugs, going back to licking cotton candy from her fingers. “We should, you know. Get our fortunes told.”

“Fortune tellers are like magicians,” Natasha says airily. “Deceptive.”

“So what?” he says. He knocks his shoulder against hers gently and catches the tail end of her eye roll. “Who cares that it’s fake. We’re here for fun, Nat. And I don’t know about you, but I _love_ to have fun.”

Natasha’s lips twitch. “Even if it’s a waste of time?”

“Nothing’s a waste of time with you,” Clint says. “C’mon, don’t make me keep spewing this sentimental shit.”

“I never said you _had_ to say anything. But I’ll go to the fortune teller if we can go on the ferris wheel next. Deal?”

Clint doesn’t accept her outstretched hand, instead hooking his pinky around hers and pulling her in to seal it with a kiss. Her lips are sugary sweet from the cotton candy and when she pulls away he sees the entire solar system reflected in her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be _this_ easy. He wasn’t supposed to fall like this.

There’s no line for the fortune teller, so they each take a seat across from a frail old lady and try not to knock their knees on the short table between them. She has a crystal ball in front of her and one cloudy eye that focuses solely on Natasha. Clint doesn’t really like the vibe the small tent is giving off but he figures it was his idea, after all, and the least he can do is stick it out.

“You don’t belong here,” the woman says, lifting a wrinkled hand to point her finger at him. Her gaze remains firmly fixed on Natasha and the single lightbulb that dangles above their heads begins flickering. “I have no fortune for you.”

Natasha snorts. “I told you this was a waste of time.”

She moves to stand when the woman’s hand suddenly shoots out to grasp her wrist, surprising them both enough that Clint jumps in time with Natasha. He watches warily as the woman’s nails dig into Natasha’s skin, and when she tries to tug her arm away the woman only holds her tighter.

“I saw you coming,” she croaks. “I saw you then and I see you now. Locked in that room, all on your own. What’s changed, Natalia? Aren’t you still trapped in that cell?”

Clint frowns, confused by the fortune teller’s words, but Natasha suddenly seems frozen, face stuck in real, raw fear. He wants to reach out and tear them apart, rip the woman away from whatever hold she seems to have on Natasha, but he can’t quite convince himself to do it.

“It’s actually Natasha,” he corrects quietly. “You were close.”

Natasha clears her throat, avoiding the woman’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she manages. “Clint, c’mon, let’s—”

“No,” the woman interjects, slowly turning towards Clint. “Do not trust him, young girl… but alas, it is too late…” She shakes her head. “Fate cannot be changed.”

The lightbulb starts to swing, slowly at first before it begins to gain momentum. The dim yellow light it emits casts eerie shadows around the tent and Clint feels something heavy settle in his stomach. His head begins to pound in tandem with the light and he grabs onto the table for support as the world suddenly tilts around him.

“Fate brought you here,” the woman continues. Her voice is soft and yet it fills the tent entirely, until Clint can hear nothing of the carnival still happening outside. “Just as it brought you to that room all those years ago. Just as it will bring you to your death.”

Clint’s heart hammers in his chest, sweat trailing down his temple even though the night air is crisp and cool. He can hardly think around the ache in his head and the sound of the woman’s voice, and he wishes with everything in him for his wings, for some form of _control_ so that he can get them out of whatever Hell they’ve stumbled into. 

“It _was_ dark, wasn’t it, Natalia?” the woman says. “You couldn’t do anything to stop them. You thought you would be there forever.”

“No,” Natasha whispers, shaking her head desperately. “No, I got out—”

“She told you not to trust anyone. How would she feel to know it will be your downfall?”

The lightbulb spins wildly on its string and Clint fleetingly wonders how it hasn’t flown off yet. He rubs at his eyes and breathes in deeply through his nose until he feels steady enough to walk out of the tent. This time he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches for Natasha, except instead of coming with him she remains stuck, eyes glassy with unshed tears as she stares at the frail woman across from her.

“Listen close, child. Let your fortune be a warning,” the woman says. “Your past ghosts are coming back to haunt you. _When the full moon rises on Hallow’s Eve, your growing worries you’ll finally relieve. By the sea, by the tumultuous, boundless tides; in the arms of your lover will you meet your demise._ ”

Natasha gasps and the lightbulb shatters, sparks flying into the air before the tent is encased in darkness. The front of the tent blows outwards with such force that Clint feels it move even _him_ a step forward, and then Natasha is racing past him and into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of people. 

“Natasha!” he calls, beginning to chase after her, ignoring the annoyed calls from the fortune teller about the few dollars he owes her. He’s a few feet away when he remembers her giant teddy bear, and when he turns around to find it he realises with a jolt that the tent is no longer there. The bear is sat against a pole, instead, and he warily lifts it under his arm as he looks around for any trace of the fortune teller or Natasha.

A flash of red hair has him running as fast as his human legs will carry him, carelessly pushing past people as he goes. He sees her duck out of the side entrance and he follows, his head a cloud of confusion. Whatever just happened was not what he had expected to happen. 

“Natasha!” He shouts again. This time she stops and he jogs the rest of the way up to her, panting slightly more than he would have if he had his own body. “Hey, uh—God, you’re _fast_. You okay?”

Natasha turns to him, face a little paler than usual. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what… I don’t _know_ …”

“It’s okay,” Clint says gently. “That was way weirder than I thought it would be. Plus, it’s gone now, like the whole tent is just—”

“Can we go home?” She interrupts softly. Clint realises she’s shaking and quickly shrugs out of his jacket, draping it carefully over her shoulders. There’s a haunted look in her eyes that he’s never seen before and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Please. I want to go home.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, offering her his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

The ride home on the subway is quiet. Clint keeps the bear in his lap and pretends not to notice Natasha subtly wiping tears from her cheeks, but he does keep his hand palm up in the space between them, just in case. It doesn’t sting when she doesn’t reach for him this time. 

He walks her to her door, even if his door is technically right beside it. He wants to say something about how he still had a fun night anyway, regardless of the creepy woman who had spooked Natasha enough to make her actually _cry_. If things had gone to plan they would be on top of the ferris wheel together, and now he doesn’t even know if he should kiss her goodnight. 

“Thanks for coming,” he settles on. “I really did have a good night.”

“Will you stay?” Natasha blurts, eyes wide in the dim hallway light. “Can you… can you stay the night? With me?”

“Um, sure,” he says carefully, and watches as she shakily unlocks her door. He follows her in and deposits the giant bear on the couch, accidentally disturbing Liho in the process. Natasha disappears into the bathroom and he looks around awkwardly. “I should go get changed, at least.”

Natasha doesn’t reply, so he quickly ducks back out and into his own apartment, hastily changing into pyjamas and brushing his teeth in record time. Lucky gives him a look until he throws him an extra treat, and then he’s back in Natasha’s apartment right as she steps out of the bathroom. 

“Thank you,” she says softly. “Is the door locked?”

Clint double checks the way he knows she likes to. “Yep. All done.”

Natasha regards him for a moment, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. He waits for her to change her mind and send him back to his own apartment, though he wouldn’t quite blame her if she did. 

“This isn’t…” she begins. Liho hisses from somewhere within the apartment and Natasha flicks her hand in the general direction. “This isn’t—I’m sorry if you think this is going to end in sex because I didn’t make myself clear, but—”

“No,” Clint interrupts. “No, Nat, this is… No. I didn’t think that.”

Her shoulders shift marginally and she leads the way into her room, crawling under the covers and wrapping her arms around a body-shaped pillow. Clint hesitantly climbs in beside her and faces her, trying to understand what it is she needs. 

“I like to be held,” she whispers. “Except no one nice ever has before. And when you touch me I… I don’t always know what to do. But it feels good.”

“It’s okay,” Clint says. “I can… I can hold you, if you want?”

Natasha nods and moves the pillow aside before pushing herself against his chest. He feels her body shake as he wraps his arms around her, and so he only holds her tighter, holds her until he isn’t sure where he begins and she ends. Her hair smells of lavender and her fingers press against his collarbone, and it feels a lot like he imagines kissing at the top of the ferris wheel would. 

“I didn’t mean to run, but sometimes that’s all I know to do.” Natasha’s lips are against his chest, her breath stuttering over his skin. “She scared me.”

“It was a bad idea. I’m sorry, Nat. We should try to forget about it.” 

Natasha nods and he feels one of her legs entwine with his. “I’m just so tired of running.”

Clint’s not entirely sure what she’s talking about, but he feels like he might understand the feeling. And it’s not like he’s even running from anything himself, except there _was_ a time, before Fury and the wings and the glory, before he was Hawkeye who never misses; there was a time when he had been trying to escape something too, and the echo of the memory still rattles in his bones and the gold in his veins. 

Still, he’s not going to ask. He feels himself settle into the warmth of her embrace and closes his eyes, trying to shake the last half of the night from his mind. The fortune teller was unsettling and Natasha’s reaction even more so, and he just wants to go back to the part of the night when it was just the two of them beneath the moon; when nothing else mattered except for the way she smiled at him and held his hand.

The carnival fades from his memory and he lets himself relax with Natasha in his arms, wondering fleetingly if she would have let him in if not for their disaster of a first date. 

☾ ☀

Clint wakes before Natasha in the morning. His right arm is numb from acting as her pillow all night but he can’t bring himself to move her just yet. She has one hand curled around his bicep and as he looks at her face he feels, for the first time, a new kind of tenderness towards her. It makes his heart soar and butterflies explode in his stomach, and he realises with a shock that he might finally be understanding what Cupid has been whining about for centuries.

“Oh shit,” he whispers. “Oh _shit_.”

Natasha jolts against him but comes-to slowly, blinking blearily at him. There’s a second of confusion that has her tensing even as she subconsciously pulls herself closer to him, and he waits for the other shoe to drop. Any second she’ll realise the mistake she made by inviting him in, and then he’ll have to retreat to his own apartment and lick his wounds under Lucky’s knowing gaze.

“Oh,” she says, voice gravelly from sleep. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” he repeats carefully. “You, uh—Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” Natasha’s brows pull together as she surveys his face, and then she mercifully rolls off his arm. He wiggles his fingers experimentally but the feeling is still lost. “Did you?”

“Like a baby,” Clint grins. “Usually I have Lucky taking up half the bed.”

She sighs. “Was I… Was it too much last night? I didn’t mean to. I mean, I didn’t mean to _dump_ all of that on you.”

“You didn’t,” he assures her, and stretches his legs out. There’s a hiss and then Liho is flying at his chest, claws bared, and she’s seconds away from sinking them into his skin when Natasha whisks her out of thin air and holds her against her chest. 

Clint takes a few seconds to catch his breath. “Was Liho here the whole time?”

“No,” Natasha says. “She just pushed open the door.”

Clint eyes the door (which is definitely still closed) suspiciously, but shrugs it off as Natasha climbs out of bed and wanders into the bathroom. She shuts the door and he hears the shower switch on, so he gets up too and makes his way to the kitchen instead, keeping his eye out for Liho as he goes. Cats are sneaky, sure, but there’s _something_ about Natasha’s demon-child that seems a little off.

Her kitchen has the same layout as his and it doesn’t take him long to find a couple of mugs and the tea that she had offered him last time. There’s her actual, honest-to-god _kettle_ on the counter, so he flicks it on and tries to remember if she took her tea with milk. Unsure, he checks the fridge anyway, but he can tell before he even opens it that her carton is off.

It hasn’t passed the expiration date, though. Clint checks some of the other food in the fridge and nothing else looks as bad as the milk, so it can’t be the fridge itself. The kettle clicking breaks him from his thoughts and he returns the milk to where he got it from, shifting his focus back to the tea. He pours the boiling water into the mugs and considers raiding her pantry in hopes of finding something to eat. 

There’s food scraps on the windowsill. He almost doesn’t notice until he catches sight of the tiny dishes set out in the early morning sunlight, some full and others half-empty. There’s another salt trail too, running along the length of the window, and none of it makes sense in the way that he thinks it’s supposed to. He’s about to reach out and pick up an orange segment when Liho suddenly appears beside him, baring her teeth.

“I’m not doing anything,” he defends. “Look, you can drink all of my milk if you want. Just give me a _break_.”

“She won’t answer you back, you know.”

Clint doesn’t jump. He turns and smiles at Natasha, whose hair is dripping in waves past her shoulders. She looks well-rested in a way that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her. He hands her the mug and watches her inhale the steam that rises from her tea.

“I know that logically. But if there was ever a cat that _could_ talk back, it would be Liho.”

Liho licks her paw and Natasha rolls her eyes. “I like to think that actions speak louder than words. Would you like something to eat?”

She flicks the TV on and then brushes past him into the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Clint heads over to the couch, if only to give her more room in the small space, and Liho follows behind him closely. When he sits down she curls onto the arm of the couch and watches him carefully.

“I don’t have much,” Natasha says to him. “I haven’t been to the bodega since… Anyway, I have fruit?”

“Fruit sounds good,” he replies. “Honestly I can’t remember the last time I ate fruit.”

“That’s not good for you. You can’t just live off pizza and—”

“ _We interrupt your scheduled programming with a breaking news story out of Suches, Georgia. The body of missing man Perevalov Dmitrievich has been found deep inside the Chattahoochee National Forest. Mr Dmitrievich was reported missing by his wife last Tuesday after failing to return home from work_.”

Clint stares at the newsreel on the screen, feeling something akin to panic settle over his body. Another East Coast murder might mean that the witch has struck again, and the whole time he’s been too infatuated with Natasha to notice. He prays that he’s wrong, prays that the man met some other fate than being slaughtered at the hands of a deranged woman, but his gut is telling him otherwise.

“ _Investigations are currently underway to determine just how Mr Dmitrievich came to be inside the forest. With no visible walking tracks in the area, police are unsure how anyone could enter and leave the forest at that point. What we do know now is that they believe this heinous crime is connected to the four other unsolved murders along the East Coast, and that this could be the work of a serial killer. Mr Dmitrievich leaves behind his wife and two children_.”

The TV turns off, and Clint catches sight of Natasha’s reflection in the dark screen. The remote is on the side table and she’s still behind the counter but it’s the least of his worries; she looks like she’s just seen a ghost, her hands clenched so tightly around her mug that he’s worried it might shatter.

“Shit,” he mutters eventually, heart racing. Fury will have his head for this. “Poor guy.”

“He was obviously murdered for a reason,” Natasha says evenly. “Not everyone is as good as the reporters make them out to be.”

Clint stares at her, a little shocked by her words. “He still _died_ though. And he has a family.”

“I had a family too,” Natasha whispers. She shakes her head and sets the mug down, and when she looks at him this time there’s sadness swimming in her gaze. “Look, about last night—”

“It’s nothing,” he assures her. “She was a freaky lady, I get it. But it’s fine, Nat. I had a really great time.”

“So did I. But… But I think we need to take a step back.”

There’s a very, very long silence. “Oh,” Clint says eventually as the words settle in and disappointment rushes through his body. Natasha winds her arms around her stomach and he fights the almost subconscious urge to reach out to her. “Is this _because_ of last night?”

“No,” she says immediately. “No, Clint. If anything, last night showed how genuinely _good_ you are. Which just further proves that I’m… I’m bad for you and—”

“Please, Natasha,” Clint interrupts. “You—No one can decide what’s good or bad for me except me. And… And I think you’re neat. I think you’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met, actually.”

“I just don’t think this is a good idea,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t get close to people. I shouldn’t let my feelings for you put you in danger.”

“ _Danger_? What’s going on, Nat? Are you safe?”

Natasha looks away from him, fingers digging into her elbows from how tightly she’s holding herself. Liho stands up and hovers between the two of them as though she’s not entirely sure what to do, and then she seemingly decides to comfort Natasha instead of maim him. She rubs against her arm until she’s forced to let go and stroke the cat’s ears.

“I’m fine,” she says eventually. “But I need… I need you to understand. It’s just not fair to you.”

Clint wants to argue. He knows that she’s worth fighting for, that whatever has spooked her so much over the last 24 hours is nothing that they can’t face together. But he also knows that he’s already in too deep, and the fact that Fury hasn’t found out yet is a small miracle in and of itself. Angels and humans are not supposed to fall in love, even if the human is as spectacularly brilliant as Natasha.

Still, the resignation that settles in his stomach takes the breath out of him. “Okay. Um, yea. I understand, Nat.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It’s just better this way.”

“Yea. Well, thanks for last night. And don’t be a stranger just because… just because it didn't work out or whatever. You can still knock on the wall if you need anything.”

Clint stands, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding. Natasha moves from behind the counter, lifting Liho and carrying her towards the door in the crook of her arm. She hesitates before opening it, and for a brief second he sees the confusion that passes over her face, and it makes him realise that she’s not entirely sold on the idea of ending things before they really began. Hope flares and is promptly squashed when she squares her shoulders and swings the door open.

“I’ll see you around,” she says softly. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

“You didn’t,” Clint says, because it’s true. There was always something different about Natasha, even if he could never put his finger on it. “I’m sorry that the carnival wasn’t what we expected.”

“It was everything and more. Just like you. Which is why this is so hard.”

His lips press into a thin smile. “It’s hard for me too.”

Natasha looks like she might say something else. Clint wants her to, but he doesn’t get his hopes up. She’s shut down and closed herself off in the time it took for her to open the door, and he doesn’t think her walls will be coming down anytime soon. He saves her the effort and reaches out to squeeze her fingers, just once, before he turns to go into his own apartment.

Her door is closed before he can even search his pockets for his keys. He sighs and pushes the key into the lock, expecting to be greeted by Lucky’s enthusiasm. 

He does _not_ expect to come face to face with his boss, who looks decidedly pissed that he’s sneaking back in the morning after.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Clint says immediately. “I have a friend—”

“So I’ve seen,” Fury interrupts. “Barton, you’re about to get an ass whoopin’.”

“If this is about the murder, I can—”

“This is your last chance.” Fury gestures towards Lucky, who wags his tail from where he’s laying on the couch. “Even this damn dog has more sense than you at the moment.”

Clint huffs. “It’s not as easy as walking down the street and running into a witch, Fury. She’s _good_. Wherever she came from… It’s deadly.”

“If you ever find her, I might just tell you,” Fury snaps. “Last chance. I don’t want to step foot in this fucking pig-sty again.”

Fury’s gone before Clint can even blink. Lucky whines and he goes over to absently scratch his ears. The apartment isn’t _that_ dirty, discarded pizza boxes aside, but he can kind of see his boss’ point. He hadn’t really expected to be on Earth for quite this long, but Natasha had stepped into his new life and turned everything on its head. 

“What a day,” Clint groans. Lucky yaps and he rolls his eyes, moving further into the apartment. “What a _morning_ then. How does a pity walk sound?”

Lucky jumps off the couch and starts running circles in front of the door. Clint drags his feet into his bedroom to get dressed, trying to find the motivation to go witch hunting again. He knows that researching the murder would probably be the smartest idea but he can’t find the energy to switch his laptop on. Georgia is further than he wants to travel, anyway, and besides: the witch always comes home.

He pulls his shoes on and grabs Lucky’s leash, resigning himself to the job that he had forgotten about in the wake of his beautiful neighbour. He tries not to think of her as he bounds down the apartment steps but despite his best efforts, the feeling of her hand around his bicep lingers for the rest of the day. 

☀ ☾

Things mostly go back to normal after that. Clint wanders the city people-watching, following a gut instinct and a headache that only ever leads him back to Natasha’s front door. He’s stood outside of it with his fist raised, ready to knock, more times than he can count now. He’s not sure if she’ll answer anymore. He hasn’t seen her in the two weeks since the carnival.

Time moves slowly now. He lies awake at night and sometimes hears her talking to Liho, her voice indecipherable through the wall. The hum of it sends electricity down his spine, and even though it was one date and a few kisses here and there it feels like more. He respects her wishes because he _does_ understand that it’s for the better, even if she will never really know the truth behind it, but still. He misses just talking to her.

Clint’s spent another day walking the same boring streets when he first spots something out of the ordinary. There are two men loitering around the front of his apartment, and it's suspicious enough that the hackles on the back of Lucky’s neck rise. Clint didn’t even know he could _do that_.

“Oh, hello,” one of the men says when he notices Clint approaching. “Do you live here?”

His human body is strong, but his angel body will always be stronger. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to have to fight. “Uh, yes. Can I help you?” 

“Do you know if there’s a woman who lives in this building?”

Clint stops. Stares. Wonders with thinly veiled horror if this is the danger Natasha had been talking about that morning after the carnival. The carnival itself is beginning to blur at the edges, as though the memory is being forced out of his head. He struggles to focus and shrugs casually. 

“I’m gonna say that a lot of women probably live in this building, but I wouldn’t know how many if you’re doing a survey or something.”

The two men look at each other. Then, one pulls out a photo that’s fraying at the edges and holds it out to Clint. “Recognise her?”

It’s Natasha. Natasha with bangs and a look in her eyes that shakes him to his core, but it’s her all the same. He keeps his expression neutral as he pretends to look over the picture closely. He doesn’t know what it means but he can’t imagine it’s anything _good_. 

“Not really, no,” Clint says apologetically. “I don’t see many of my neighbours. Is she missing?”

“Something like that,” the first man says. “If you see her around, can you tell her that Ivan is looking for her?”

“Uh, I guess. What’s her name?”

It’s curiosity that makes him ask more than anything. Ivan has an array of gang tattoos on his neck and the kind of eyes that Satan would swoon over. _Danger_ is the first word that comes to Clint’s mind, followed closely by _death_. 

“Natalia,” Ivan says eventually. “I am her brother. And Alexei is her boyfriend. We are just worried, you see.”

“Oh yea, definitely,” Clint says, not buying either of their stories. Lucky still hasn’t stopped growling softly and it’s all becoming a bit too weird for Clint’s liking. “Well, good luck. I hope she’s okay.”

 _She lives right here_ , he thinks to himself. _Except her name is Natasha and she never mentioned once that she has a brother. Except she just told me she wasn’t safe and now you two are here looking for her. Except I’ve heard her be called Natalia before and I can’t remember when._

“Thank you,” Ivan says. “She will know how to contact us.”

They leave before Clint can really say anything else, and he waits a full half an hour outside of his apartment before he does anything. Lucky finally relaxes and he lets him inside, shutting the door behind the dog and stepping over to Natasha’s door. He knocks softly at first and then louder when he doesn’t receive an answer. 

Something akin to worry flares across his skin. Liho appears from nowhere and scratches at the door, and when Natasha still doesn’t answer Clint takes things into his own hands and prays she won’t flip out on him. He just needs to warn her, if anything. 

The lock is impossible to pick at first. He spends a good ten minutes trying until it finally clicks and he can swing it open, revealing her dimly lit apartment. There’s candles burning on the kitchen counter and the smell of sage strong in the air. Liho skitters past him and he follows her towards the bedroom. 

“Natasha?” He calls gently, pushing open her bedroom door. He finds her safely curled up in bed, body wrapped tightly around her curvy pillow as she sleeps, and he finally lets out a breath. “Okay. Okay, stop being creepy now.”

Clint’s about to leave the bedroom when the pain hits him. It drops him to his knees, head pounding as the overwhelming urge to _run_ filters into his brain. It feels like Satan himself is driving hot pokers against his skull and it takes everything in him not to cry out and wake her. Liho sits on the bed and watches him struggle, tail flicking. 

He manages to crawl out of the bedroom without Natasha once stirring. She’s dead to the world and he vaguely wonders if he should check that she’s not _actually_ dead, but he can’t bring himself to go back into the room. Once he hits the living room the pain subsides enough that he can get his feet under him again, and then he’s hightailing it to his apartment just to make it all stop. 

The ache dulls but doesn’t disappear, and Clint suddenly finds himself exhausted. He feeds Lucky on autopilot and drags himself into bed, too tired to even shower. His day has been nothing but weird and now he feels like a breeze could knock him down. He pulls the covers over his head and closes his eyes, and for the first time on Earth, he dreams. 

☾ ☀

He dreams of her. Natasha sits beside him on a picnic blanket in a long dress, her bare feet pointed out towards the sea. He can feel the ocean breeze against his skin as clearly as if he is there, now, basking in the setting sun alongside her. 

There’s no one else around, just the two of them and a basket full of fruit and alcohol. Her fingers brush his hand until she can hook her pinky through his and he swears he can feel her smile even without seeing it. 

“This is nice,” he says in the dream, and it _is_ nice. It’s nice enough that he doesn’t want to wake up for a while. 

“We’re getting close to the end,” dream-Natasha says. “There’s only one way out of this, Clint.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he frowns. “We can stay here for as long as we like.”

“I told you it wasn’t safe,” she insists. Her grip on his pinky is borderline painful now. “You need to leave me alone.”

“But I can’t because I love you. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

The waves rush towards them, violent and dark. When she turns to look at him her face is an empty chasm, her eyes two soulless things that stare right through him. He sees gold glitter on her skin and realises a second later that it’s living, moving across her body in time with her breaths. 

“Run,” she says. 

“This is nice,” he repeats mindlessly, and Natasha explodes into a million tiny, dazzling pieces. 

☀ ☾

Clint doesn’t shake the dream for days. He’s not sure if it’s paranoia from seeing the men or something else, something much darker than he would ever have imagined. It feels like a warning that he’s steadfastly ignoring, mainly because he doesn’t believe that humans have the power to control dreams but also because he doesn’t _want_ to believe that it’s a warning. He doesn’t want to imagine that she’s in danger even though he knows, deep down, that she is.

He sees Natasha occasionally now, but she only ever waves and rushes past him. He’s noticed that she’s usually in a hurry now, though for what he has no idea, and most nights he hears her door close well past midnight as she eventually stumbles home. He’s tapped on the wall a couple of times, and sometimes she’ll tentatively knock back, as though she’s letting him know that she’s still alive. 

He has no luck on the witch front either. He spends a weekend in Georgia and doesn’t find even the slightest hint that she was ever there, except for the faint smell of lavender and sage that lingers in the forest where the body was found. The dark, heady scent of _witch_ is barely detectable beneath whatever charm she’s hastily used to try and cover it. His nose aches with the stench of it for a whol week later. 

Clint’s at the dog park again, giving Lucky a well-deserved break from witch hunting when he first realises that he’s being followed. He looks up and immediately makes eye contact with a woman standing over by the tree where Lucky lost his toy; her face is stern, her blonde hair pulled away from her sharp cheekbones in a bun atop her head. She sees him looking and smiles, a quirk of her lips that looks more spiteful than friendly. 

He lifts his hand and waves, making sure that she knows that _he_ knows she’s following him. The smile disappears and her face sets like stone. Clint might almost be intimidated if he wasn’t also curious, because it’s not every day he finds himself being stalked by an old woman. When she doesn’t move he stands and makes his way towards her instead, frowning when she ducks behind the tree. 

“Hey!” he calls, breaking into a jog after her. “Hey, wait!”

He reaches the tree and looks behind it, but the woman is nowhere to be seen. Lucky bounds over and sniffs the base of the trunk, then whines and rubs his head on the ground. Clint ignores him and surveys the rest of the area in case the woman somehow snuck past him, but the park is nearly empty, the sun slowly sinking behind clouds that promise rain. He scratches absently at his head and wonders what her end game was.

Lucky yelps suddenly, the sound high-pitched and nothing at all like the playful noises he usually makes. Clint kneels beside him and gently stops him from tossing his head around, tilting it up until he can see what’s causing his dog so much irritation. There’s a sticky black mark over his left eye, and when he reaches out to brush it away it burns the tip of his thumb. Lucky cries and Clint feels his heart drop into the bottom of his stomach.

Rushing his dog into the vet isn’t exactly how he had pictured ending his night. By the time they get there the worst of the charm seems to have worn off, and Clint can wash most of the tar-like substance off with a little water. It’s easier to explain to the vet that way, easier than having to say _this was caused by poison conjured by a witch and if you touch it you might lose a digit, but please don’t worry and just fix my dog._

He loses the eye. Clint thought it would be the only probable outcome but it still hurts, watching his pet being whisked away into surgery. The whole thing was probably a trap and it makes him feel like an idiot for leading Lucky right into it. Rage boils in his blood and makes everything turn crimson red just for one second, but it’s only a second he needs. Angels can seek revenge, too, and he won’t rest until he knows for a fact that the witch who did this has paid.

By the time Clint makes it back to his apartment it’s much later than he anticipated. He’d had to leave Lucky at the vet's post-surgery and the walk from the subway to his home had helped clear his head just a little. He wants to tell Natasha suddenly; wants to tell her that his dog is hurt and he’s sad and failing at his only job, and how he wants to try again with her, maybe, if she’ll let him. He wants to tell her how much he misses talking to her and getting to know her. The black stain on his thumb prevents him from knocking on her door.

“We have one hell of a motherfucking problem on our hands.”

Clint thinks that if the human race knew how much God himself swore, they might start to reconsider some of their beliefs. “What now?”

Fury is sitting on the couch, which is actually the least surprising part of Clint’s day. He’s got a manila folder like he’s some kind of spy and a look on his face that could almost be _worry_ , and it’s enough to make Clint worried too. If Fury saw what happened to Lucky then maybe he’s about to stage an intervention, and for the first time in his whole life, Clint is ready for the help.

“The witch is old news,” Fury says. He opens the folder and pulls out a single, unextraordinary photograph. The building looks old and Clint screws his nose up at the smell that wafts from the image. “You ever heard of the Red Room?”

“Nope, can’t say I have. You want a coffee?”

It’s nearly midnight, but Clint thinks he deserves it. Fury waves him off and he sets about brewing a pot, listening instinctively for noises coming from Natasha’s apartment. It’s eerily silent, which usually wouldn’t pique his interest, except something feels off and it’s not just the fact that his dog was poisoned by a witch.

“It began as a covert Russian program to transform young girls into merciless killers. They were successful in the 1940s but lost funding by the end of the war.” Fury stands and walks over to Clint’s bookcase, looking at the bow that he hasn’t had to hide since Natasha stopped coming over. “But like all underground organisations, they never really end.”

“Is this a long story?” Clint asks. “No offense, sir, but Lucky’s sick and I really need to go to sleep so this stupid body will have enough energy to get me through tomorrow.”

“I stopped keeping tabs on them after the last of the commanders died,” Fury continues. “And then in the 80’s something changed. They made a fucking mess that was too hard to ignore.”

“What? They took more kids and tried to make an army? C’mon, boss, you deal with this shit every day. There’s gotta be a point.”

Fury turns to glare at him. “They took a girl, jacked her up with all kinds of shit. Experimented on her, kept her locked in a fucking cage. She lives through it, miraculously, and they get what they want in the end. They get their witch.”

Something clicks into place, but Clint can’t quite put his finger on it. “They created a witch?”

“ _Your_ witch, to be precise,” Fury says. “The one you’re supposed to be hunting. The Red Room made her and expected her to be compliant and when she wasn’t, they weren’t strong enough to stop her. She’s unlike any other witch I’ve come across. That’s why she’s so damn sneaky.”

“I don’t… What’s the problem then? Why did you come all the way down—”

“To stop them from finding her again,” Fury says. “When they popped up on my radar I thought I was seeing ghosts. They’ve been in Bed-Stuy for a month, scouting the area. Only thing we have working in our favour is that they don’t have a fucking clue where she is, either.”

Clint swallows a mouthful of coffee and considers his boss. “If you knew all of this information about them, then how come you don’t know anything about the witch? You can’t even give me a name, Fury. You would have seen _something_.”

For the first time that Clint can remember, Fury looks apologetic. He sits back on the couch and rests his head in his hands, and after a beat Clint sits beside him. He can’t imagine how it must feel, to literally carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It takes a certain type of soul to do that, and Clint knows that his isn’t made of the same stuff.

“I tried,” Fury mutters eventually. “Tracked them for years. All I ever saw was the aftermath, the people they forced her to decimate. Their protection charm was strong, and now hers is stronger. Fucking witches.”

“Fucking witches,” Clint agrees solemnly. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to burn those fuckers to the ground,” Fury says. “I want you to find the Red Room and rip their roots out. Get them before they get her, or else we could be facing something that the human race isn’t prepared for.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Clint lets out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to dump on a guy whose dog was just poisoned.”

“Who do you think poisoned him?” Fury asks. “That woman is to blame for all of it. She needs to be stopped.”

“I can do it,” Clint says, feeling his anger return in a red hot wave. He clenches his hands around the coffee mug and tries to stop it from pulling him under, because he doesn’t have his wings now and that type of burning hatred can’t be channelled in a body like this. “Tomorrow I’ll bring Lucky home and then I’ll find them.”

“Good,” Fury says, exhaustion leaking into his voice. “Keep the photo. I’ll be back in the morning with something you might need.”

He’s gone before Clint can blink, and the apartment descends into the kind of silence he isn’t used to. Lucky is usually either snoring or knocking something over, and the absence of noise is enough to drive him to bed, coffee abandoned on the table beside the photograph. He makes quick work of brushing his teeth and then lays in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, trying desperately to hang onto the tiny thread of control he has left. 

He reaches out and knocks on the wall, right where he knows Natasha’s head will be. He waits thirty minutes before he accepts that she won’t be knocking back tonight, and somehow, the world feels a little emptier. 

☾ ☀

Clint wakes up the next day with a knot in his neck and a sharp pain in his shoulders. He rolls onto his back in bed and feels something dig into his skin, except when he reaches behind him to pull whatever it is out he realises that it’s actually attached to his body. 

It all clicks into place and in less than a second his wings form beneath him, his body coming alive with the kind of power he’s missed over the last however many months. He’s out of bed in a flash, wings folded to fit through the door so he can show Lucky that his angel body is finally, _thankfully_ back. 

The apartment is empty. The real-world crashes into him as he remembers the photo from last night and Fury’s impromptu visit. He needs to pick up Lucky before he starts tracking the Red Room, and a set of wings sprouting from his back will not go down well with the humans. He sighs and folds them back in, then sets about getting ready for his day. 

Hunting down an entire organisation seems infinitely harder than trying to find a single witch, but Clint already knows that it will be easier. Now that he has the scent from the photograph he’ll be able to find them with his eyes closed. Even Lucky post-surgery will have a fair shot at this one.

When he steps outside wearing a backpack to cover the bumps on his back Liho is waiting for him on his doormat. It’s earlier than he would have expected to see the cat, and he frowns at Natasha’s closed door. 

“Where’s Natasha, hey?” He asks, as though Liho will be able to answer him. She slinks over to her own doormat and meows at him softly, for once not trying to rip his throat out. “What’s wrong, Liho? She lock you out?”

He knocks on Natasha’s door but there’s no sound of movement from within. Liho pushes her head against Clint’s leg, and it almost looks like she’s trying to tell him something. He knocks again, just to be sure, and gets the same response. Natasha isn’t home. A wave of worry cascades over him for a moment before he remembers the task at hand. 

“Sorry, Liho. Gonna have to leave you to sort this one out yourself. I have to get Lucky and, well… You’re just a cat so I might as well just tell you. I’m going witch hunting.”

Liho blinks at him. Clint’s unnerved enough by the cat’s expression to turn and walk away from her, because for one split second it had looked like she had almost _understood_ him. He shakes his head and makes his way to the subway, ignoring the second looks he receives from people passing by. Angel blood is made of gold; his human body was fine, but now he’s back to normal and there’s not much of him that’s not dripping in charm. 

The subway is crowded so Clint has to stand, his perfect balance preventing him from using a handrail. Lucky’s vet is only a couple of stops away anyway, and he bounds onto the platform feeling ecstatic to see his most loyal friend. He stops dead in his tracks a second later, eyes focusing on the black cat sat on a bench. 

Liho blinks. Clint thinks he might actually be starting to lose his mind. He marches up to the cat and picks her up, hissing and yowling, and deposits her in his backpack. She pokes her head out of the top begrudgingly and takes a swipe at the back of his head. 

“I could leave you here to be grabbed, asshole,” he mutters as he continues on his way. “Anyone could just pick you up and take you home, and that would probably break Natasha’s heart. I can’t let it happen for _her_ sake so just… behave, please.”

At the sound of Natasha’s name Liho meows again. If she’s trying to give him a sign then he mustn’t be understanding her clues. The worry comes back then, prickling along his skin and settling in his stomach. He should have knocked again. He should have gone in. 

He’s still thinking about it when he picks up Lucky, who’s in good enough spirits for a dog that just lost an eye. He whines at Liho in Clint’s backpack but must sense the wings, because he falls into step beside him without Clint even needing to get the leash out. 

“I’m sorry, boy,” he says to Lucky as they navigate the street. “I shouldn’t have let you over there.”

Lucky doesn’t care. He only focuses on Liho and the way she occasionally digs her claws into the back of Clint’s head. 

“We have to do an important job,” Clint continues. “Well, I do. You have to sit outside and keep watch, okay?”

Lucky wags his tail and Clint takes that as a yes, so the three of them board another subway and head towards the docks instead, following the vague scent that permeates from the photograph. He’s not sure why they’re in Brooklyn when the Red Room originated in Russia, but he’s not about to ask questions. Not when Fury _finally_ gave him his wings back. 

Liho becomes significantly more aggravated the closer they get, and Clint seriously considers sending her back home in a taxi, but by then they’re already too close and he thinks that it probably can’t get any worse. He did technically steal her, even if it was for her own good. He can understand her displeasure at being dragged across the city.

When Clint steps out of the train station, he’s hit with the strong, salty scent of the ocean and it only takes him around five minutes to find the cargo docks. It’s huge and filled with crates stacked on the ground, and for a moment he regrets bringing Lucky and Liho along—he doesn’t know where to start. What if he loses one of them?

Clint feels the weight of his backpack shift and then disappear. Liho climbs out onto his shoulder then jumps onto the ground, walking quickly like she has somewhere to go with her tail hanging so low it’s nearly between her legs. 

“Liho, wait!” He scrambles after her, Lucky a few steps ahead. After a number of turns, Liho finally stops at a seemingly ordinary big crate and walks around in a few circles like she’s trying to tell him something.

“What?” He says softly. There’s a big metal lock at the doors, and while Clint could easily break it with his strength back, he decides not to just yet, in case some dock worker walks past and he has to explain how he, a perfectly normal human being, just crushed a lock with his bare hands. So, no.

Liho scratches sadly at the crate doors a few times, but Clint’s attention is diverted by some movement out of the corner of his eye. He’s about to move to hide, but there’s a swish of a black hood and cloak and a face he’d recognise anywhere, albeit only ever seeing it once.

“Hey!” he calls, and she starts running back in the direction she came from. “Shit. Lucky, you stay here with Liho, okay, we don’t wanna have a reenactment of what happened last time—stay, boy. Here—” he takes his backpack off and places it on the ground, so they’re less likely to leave. “Do not move until I come get you, you hear me?”

Clint takes off after the witch, able to catch up due to his unearthly speed. He chases her around even more twists and turns, and fleetingly worries how he’s going to find Lucky and Liho, not to mention getting out of the docks after all this is over. 

But that’s a problem for another time. The witch hurries into a warehouse and closes the door quickly, but Clint just pushes them back open, knocking a few others who’d been holding the door back.

Surveying the room, he realises that it’s not just a _few_ others. This is an entire cavern of witches. The Red Room. The witch he’d chased inside hisses at him.

Clint is an angel. While angels are powerful, Clint is one single _lone_ angel who’s still reeling from a breakup. Clint is an angel, but this does not mean he would be able to defeat thirty something witches gloriously in battle like in those ancient paintings of human limbs and chariots and streaks of lightning, angels descending from the sky to save humanity. No, Clint is an angel who’s just trying his best.

So when said thirty something witches all rush towards him, he runs the opposite way. His speed does give him an advantage, but he can’t be sure if the witches sixty feet behind him are throwing spells and hexes at him or just communicating with each other in a different language. “Don’t let him get to the crate,” one of them shouts, and Clint remembers: Liho.

Liho is a cat. It wouldn’t surprise him if she’d sensed something powerful behind those doors. Well, at least now he knows he should be prepared. Miraculously, he turns a corner and Lucky and Liho are right there, standing in the same spot he’d left them. He utters a _thank you, Fury_ , then scoops them both up in his arms.

“No time to explain,” he says, and then his wings are spreading and he kicks down the doors to the crate, bracing himself for whatever’s inside.

He really should’ve braced himself _more_ , because what’s actually inside makes him stagger backwards. Everything happens quickly, too quickly—

She says his name— “Clint?”—Liho bounds out of his arms and into hers—he says her name— “Natasha.” Her eyes focus past his face and spot the wings. Something in her expression shifts. Fear? Betrayal?

That’s weird. He would’ve expected simple confusion from a human.

“Nat, have they been _keeping_ you in here—”

“Shut up. Get in, behind me,” she commands, and something in her voice makes him do as she says. She puts Liho down and faces the doors, ripping her necklace off and waiting for the influx of witches to arrive. He doesn’t even have time to pull her back, shake some sense into her, tell her they’re literally boxed in and ask her what she’s doing—

The no-good witch that poisoned Lucky shows up. She sees Natasha and growls at her.

“Step back, Madame,” Natasha says, hands at her sides. “I don’t want to do this.”

_Do what, Natasha? Please just tell me what the hell is going on, you’re in the literal epicentre of danger and you weren’t one bit shocked when you saw my wings and something’s off and I don’t like it._

“You’ve been killing people of our own, and you don’t expect us to retaliate?” Madame asks, taking one step into the crate.

Whoa, whoa, wait. Killing?

“You know what I’m capable of,” Natasha threatens, voice shaking. She starts bringing her hands up in front of her, outstretched like she’s moderating an argument. “So, please, just back off. Or at least—” she glances sideways at Clint— “At least let him go first.”

Madame sneers. “You’re weak, and for that he’ll die with you.” 

By the sea. By the tides. _In the arms of your lover will you meet your demise_ , but—

“You keep him out of your mouth,” Natasha snarls, and then wisps of gold appear around her hands from nowhere. Madame’s eyes widen and Natasha directs the entire force of her powers outwards, an explosion of the darkest magic Clint has ever seen. Madame gets knocked out of the crate, and Clint topples onto the floor.

Natasha falls to her knees, shoulders shaking. She’s maybe even crying, watching the gold around her hands appear and disappear, phasing in and out. When she gets most of it under control, she crawls over to him, rapidly wiping her tears away. “Clint? Are you okay?”

Clint recoils before she can touch him. She curls her reaching hands into fists and cries in earnest like she’s been hit.

“You’re a witch,” Clint tries to say with disgust, but all that comes out is fear. “You’re _the_ witch. You’re the Black Widow.”

She stares at him, mouth open in indignation. “That’s rich,” she scoffs. “You’re an angel. You—You lured me into your fucking spell for _weeks_. You let me trust you.”

“That’s not true,” he defends. “I didn’t even know—”

“Damn it!” She pounds her fist into the floor, and it rattles. Clint jumps. “I am so _sick_ of everyone lying to me, using me. No one ever—” She buries her hands into her hair— “sees me for who I really am, who I’m trying to be. I’m—

“I’m trying to be better, Clint.”

“I believe you,” he breathes, and it shocks him how much he really does. “Tasha—”

“Don’t. Don’t try to draw me in again, it’s not going to work. Just—leave.” Her voice is low and it’s the first time Clint’s ever seen a person look dangerous and vulnerable at the same time. “And take Liho with you. Leave her outside my door; she’ll know how to get in. I’ll deal with the rest of the witches, and then I don’t ever want to see you again.”

His face falls. “No. No, Natasha, I’m sorry—”

“Leave!” She screams, and her emerald eyes turn gold and fiery. Clint scrambles to pick up Lucky and Liho and runs without looking back, jumping over the unconscious bodies of the witches. He barely makes it to the subway station before throwing up. On the train, he starts crying silently.

He wants to scream, because the signs were all there and he was too naive to notice them. The expired milk that brought them together and the food scraps left as offerings on the windowsill. Liho’s ability to appear in his apartment even though the door was locked. The salt lines around her door and windows, protecting her inside her home. The necklace she wore that covered both her scent and the gold magic that danced across her skin.

Her skin. The way it felt to _touch_ her. The way it felt like electric currents running through his veins, pure energy flowing between them. The way it felt like more than Heaven when he kissed her. The way it felt like home. 

Clint presses his fingers into his eyes until he sees stars. He doesn’t want to believe it, because he knows what this means. Now he’ll have to follow Fury’s orders and kill her, and suddenly ending things doesn’t seem as black and white as it once might have been. Natasha was _hurt_ in the past. He can understand hurt. 

The train rattles down the track and Liho stares forlornly at the ground. Clint thinks about stroking her before changing his mind, trying to ignore the nausea that curls in his stomach. He doesn’t want to think about the magic that had curled itself around Natasha’s wrists like iron chains. 

He can’t kill her. He _won’t_ kill her. It’s more than Gods and witchcraft at this point. It’s more than her hand in his and her lips, more than Friday night movies and a ferris wheel they still haven’t ridden. And even though it hurts to find out, it doesn’t hurt as much as the knowledge that they can never be together again. There are literally rules forbidding it, and while Clint knows his execution would be more than deserved for letting his guard down and falling in love with a witch, Natasha—Natasha has gone through enough pain.

They reach their stop and he makes sure to scoop Liho up before they begin their walk home. The bumps beneath his backpack barely register in his mind. Every time he blinks he sees Natasha, eyes glowing, screaming at him to leave her alone. 

Clint drops Liho on the mat outside of her apartment door and watches the cat disappear into thin air. He’s seen all kinds of familiars before and yet there’s something about Liho that’s different. Maybe it’s her unwavering hatred of him, or maybe it’s the fact that she was only trying to protect Natasha all along, too. 

Lucky goes straight to his bed when Clint finally swings the door to his own apartment open. He follows suit, discarding the backpack by the couch and shuffling his feet all the way to his room. Being around so many witches has exhausted him in a way that he hasn’t been before. Or maybe it’s the shock of Natasha's secret identity finally setting in. 

He crawls into bed and pulls the covers right up to his chin. He’ll face Fury tomorrow if he needs to, but he’s still holding onto a single shred of hope that his boss didn’t see the decimation at the docks. If he didn’t he might have more time to think of a plan that could save both him _and_ Natasha. 

A few minutes pass in silence, and then Clint hears Lucky’s feet on the floorboards a second before the dog jumps onto the bed. He rests his head near Clint’s and offers the type of quiet comfort that only animals can give, and Clint hangs onto it with both hands. 

He can deal with Fury and Natasha and whatever else the universe wants to throw at him tomorrow. For now, he sleeps with one hand tangled in Lucky’s fur, dreaming about Natasha and the power she had held in the palm of her hand. 

☀ ☾

Not much changes the next day. Clint wakes around noon and watches a news coverage on the explosion at the docks, surprised to learn that there were no reported injuries. He drinks a whole pot of coffee and keeps his wings out for the afternoon, stretching the muscles that ache from disuse and taking care not to knock over any mugs with them. He tries not to think of Natasha and whatever fate he left her to. He distracts himself with a shitty movie until it reminds him too much of Friday nights and Moose Tracks.

Lucky wags his tail when Clint shuts the TV off, giving him a pointed look from where he lies in front of the door. He wants to go for a walk and Clint can’t really think of one good reason to say no to him. He picks up the leash and folds his wings in, doubling up on the jackets instead of worrying about bringing his backpack. He almost expects Fury to stop him from leaving. He almost wishes that he would.

As soon as the front door is open Lucky bounds out but stops on the doormat, planting himself there and refusing to budge when Clint pulls on the leash. His frustration has been simmering all morning and he really doesn’t need his dog to start acting up. Lucky’s one eye remains fixed on something at the end of the hall despite Clint’s pleas for him to move, and he’s just about to give up and forget about the walk when he finally notices Liho.

“Great,” he mutters. “What the fuck do you want?”

Liho meows. Lucky reacts, taking off so quickly that the leash slips out of Clint’s hand before he can think to grip it tighter. He can only watch as Lucky leaps towards Liho, hackles raised and teeth bared, looking for all the world like he might rip the cat’s throat out then and there. 

“Lucky! Stop—”

The dog lands on the cat. Clint braces himself for the yowling, for the bloodshed, because even though Lucky is divine it doesn’t mean he won’t fight. Now that they know Natasha is a witch—and it _hurts_ to think it, to even humour the idea of it—it makes sense that Lucky will react the way that he was trained to. Hunting familiars is his job, and Clint can guarantee that his dog is just as heartbroken about losing a friend as he is.

Except, when Lucky lands on Liho there’s no fighting. There’s not even a single hiss or howl, because the moment Lucky hits her she seemingly evaporates, leaving tiny particles floating in the air. Clint frowns and walks over cautiously, but by the time he gets to Lucky’s side there’s nothing left of Liho except for a single scrap of paper on the floor near his feet. 

“Not a cat,” Clint says, shaking his head in exasperation. “It was a charm, Luck. She obviously doesn’t want to see me.”

He picks up the paper and turns it over, taking in Natasha’s curly handwriting. He reads and re-reads the note, trying to ingrain the coordinates in his mind. _26°42'03.9"N 80°01'58.9"W_. It makes sense that she would make it as difficult as possible for him, if only because he’s sure that she’s just as nervous as he is about seeing each other in person now. 

“What does this mean?” he whispers to Lucky. “Where does she want me to go?”

Clint absently picks up Lucky’s discarded leash and leaves the apartment building, eyes fixed firmly on the note. He needs answers, more than anything; an answer to whatever the hell it was that happened at the docks, and why Natasha was there in the first place. He knows it logically, can see the missing pieces of Fury’s puzzle sliding into place, a faceless witch being replaced by a version of his friend that he hadn’t really expected. It doesn’t explain how _easy_ it all was, to find them, and that’s what makes him pick up the pace a little as he makes his way to the library.

Lucky isn’t impressed with being left outside, but the note in his hand has started to burn at the edges and he’s not in the mood to argue with a dog. He makes it to a computer just as the paper starts to smoke and hastily types the coordinates in seconds before the whole thing goes up in flames. It burns the palm of his hand and he curses, then curses again when he realises where she’s leading him.

“Florida? Of all fucking places?” Clint rubs his thumb absently over the now pink flesh and scrolls through the pictures of Palm Beach, trying to make a connection between the white sand and Natasha. “This doesn’t feel like a good idea.”

It’s a seventeen-hour trip by car. Clint can’t technically drive, and it would be quicker to just use his wings anyway, but he’s not convinced that he should go. Natasha shouldn’t be able to pull the strings without telling him where they’ll lead him. He shouldn’t still feel the way he does about her when he knows the truth. And yet he _does_ still love her—even if he’s not entirely sure that it is love now—for the sole fact that she’s Natasha, and before she was anything else she was just his friend. 

He finds Lucky moping outside where he was left and they spend the next hour walking the streets while Clint tries to clear his head. Florida is foreign territory, and maybe that’s why she chose Palm Beach. That, or she’s still running, and he’s honestly not sure which one he prefers. 

“Is this a bad idea?” He asks Lucky when they eventually make it home after dark. Natasha’s apartment looks dreary, somehow, as though she took all the light with her when she left. “Am I walking into another trap?”

Lucky doesn’t answer him. Clint thinks that if he could he would say, _of course it is, idiot. But you were never going to say no to her, were you?_

☾ ☀

Clint’s in Florida. He doesn’t _want_ to be in Florida, already sweating despite having only just stepped foot out of his hotel room, but there’s something about self-destructing notes that’s a little hard to ignore. Besides, he’s come to the conclusion that Natasha basically owes him an explanation, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get it before Fury drags his ass back to Heaven.

Despite the humid weather and the sweat that drips down his back, he’s forced to wear a sweater to try and hide the bumps of his wings. He understands, now, why Fury took them away in the first place: it’s easier to hide something that’s not actually there. Still, it _does_ feel good to have them back, and the feeling of power that rushes through his veins almost makes it all worth it.

Almost, because he waits for four hours on Palm Beach before giving up on her showing. He has no idea if he’s even made it in time, so he drags his feet back to the hotel and orders an ungodly amount of food, basking in the chill from the air conditioning until it lulls him to sleep. He dreams again, though this time he can’t remember it when he wakes in the middle of the night with his legs tangled in the sheets. He reaches for the wall, ready to tap and ask her if she’s okay, before he realises that he’s too far from home.

The next day brings more sun and the excuse to eat more ice cream than is humanly possible. He brings a towel with him to the beach this time and watches a few people walk along the shore. There’s 47 miles of coastline that she could technically be hiding on but he’s confident that she gave him exact coordinates for a reason. Natasha doesn’t seem to be the type to do things by halves; it only hurts a little to realise that he doesn’t really know her at all.

Clint drifts to sleep, eyelids tinged red from the sun. He’s not asleep for long—or at least it doesn’t _feel_ like it’s for long—when he senses a shift in the energy around him, a shift that he’s only ever felt in the presence of one other person in his life. _Witch_ , his mind supplies automatically as he opens his eyes. _She’s a witch, remember?_

Natasha is standing ankle-deep in the ocean, her red hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Clint stands and brushes the sand off his legs, then debates approaching her. He’s not quite sure how welcome he is, despite the invitation.

“Water’s nice,” she says, her voice carrying up to him on the back of a breeze that ruffles his hair. “You should feel it.”

He hesitates for just a second, and the breeze that had cooled his hot face suddenly becomes fiercer, gathering into a mini twister that pushes him roughly from behind until he has no choice but to move. He’s standing beside her before he knows it, barely catching the last glimmer of gold around her fingers as the air settles around him. The beach is eerily quiet, the only sound being the waves against the shore.

“Not bad,” Clint says gruffly, digging his toes into the wet sand. “There are easier ways to get a guy to do something, you know.”

Natasha’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “I wasn’t so sure you would come down here.”

“To the beach, now, or to Florida?”

“Both, maybe.” Natasha notices him staring at her hands and tucks them under her arms, lips pulling down in a frown. “I wasn’t so sure you would find the note.”

“Hard to miss an exploding cat,” Clint says bitterly. “You know, this isn’t what I… I don’t know if you can reveal yourself to be a goddamn _witch_ and then expect me to follow you across the country just to get some fucking answers. It’s selfish.”

“And yet you came.”

“How do you know that I’m not just here to finish the job?” he says, finally turning to face her. Her face is set like stone, but there’s marks under her eyes that tell him she hasn’t been sleeping and a still-healing bruise caressing her cheek. “Surely you’ve figured it out.”

“I had my suspicions after the carnival,” she admits softly. “Clint, I didn’t want to lie to you. I just wanted—”

“Yea, well, you did a pretty good job at lying for someone who didn’t _want_ to,” Clint snaps. He doesn’t want to be angry, wants to be anything other than mad at her for doing what she had to to protect herself, and yet. And yet he is angry, because he loved her. _Loves_ her. He’s not sure if there’s a difference anymore. “Shit, Natasha. You’re a witch.”

“I never wanted to be,” Natasha says, eyes suddenly burning like fire. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted years of _torture_ just to end up alone? I just wanted someone to—”

She breaks off, bringing a hand up to press against her mouth. The magic that swirls around her fingers is red now, no longer the colour of stars and honey. He thinks it might be a mixture of pain and fear that makes her eyes water, and it briefly extinguishes some of his own anger. He knows that look. He’s worn it before.

“You’ve been lying too,” she whispers eventually. “You put me under a spell that none of my protection charms were strong enough to withstand. You don’t get to come here now and accuse me of being someone I’m not when you were in the same boat.”

Clint scoffs, frustration returning. “It’s a little different, sweetheart. I wasn’t murdering people.”

“They hurt me,” Natasha says. “They… they _hurt_ me. I’m so sick of being hurt. I’m so sick of the fucking pain. I couldn’t let them do that to anyone else. They—”

“Had families. Had lives.” Clint throws his hands up and fights the urge to unfurl his wings, reminding himself that he’s not about to fight her in the middle of Florida, of all places. “What could they have done that is so bad it warrants death?”

“This!” Natasha cries, holding her trembling hands out to him. The magic is deep crimson now, flowing over her hands like blood. He senses the shift in energy and braces himself for a repeat of the docks. “They made me into a monster. I was just a little girl and they… they…”

Natasha gasps and the sand beneath his feet shifts, sending him tumbling onto his back in a heartbeat. There are tears on her cheeks when she moves her fingers this time, and Clint feels his joints lock together, as though he’s being restrained by invisible chains.

“This was a bad idea,” she chokes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Natasha,” he tries, but he can tell that it’s going to take more than his voice to get her out of whatever part of her past she’s stuck in. There’s enough wiggle room in his shoulders that he can spread his wings, not caring if he’s caught by a human. The chains break and she falls back, mouth open in shock. “Natasha, wait—”

The next blow has purpose. He feels it hit him squarely in the chest and stumbles, fighting to maintain his balance. He’s got enough sense to block the next one she throws at him, and it vaguely occurs to him that whatever _this_ is, this panic and fear and hurt, is something that he doesn’t quite understand. And maybe Fury was wrong. Maybe they were all wrong.

“C’mon, Nat, I’m—” He ducks under a hex that looks deadly and, going against his better judgement, manages to get close enough to brush his hand against her arm. She flinches and moves away from him, so he does the only thing he can think of. He raises his arms in surrender and says, “I’m not going to fight you, Nat.”

“Fight me,” she demands, voice rough. Her magic swirls in a whirlwind around her hands, leaving small, pink burns across her pale arms. “It’s what he sent you here for, right? So just do it. Fight me.”

“No,” Clint says resolutely. He ignores the pain that shoots into the back of his skull like a red-hot poker and stares her down “Just… no.”

Natasha squeezes her eyes shut, bringing her trembling hands up to press against her temples. “They took me from my family, Clint, and when I found them they didn’t want me back. How can anyone _love_ this?”

“I didn’t know,” he says. “I did but… But not like this. I’m sorry, Natasha.”

“I’m sorry too,” she tells him. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

Clint’s careful when he holds his hands out to her. Natasha is not when she slams herself against him, hands clutching fiercely at the back of his shirt. He feels her fingers brush his wings and holds her just as tightly, a current passing between them that’s almost strong enough to bring him to his knees. It’s been _so long_ since he touched her, and now—

“You’re not a monster, Tasha,” he whispers against her hair. “I love you.”

“Love is for humans,” she murmurs, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Not this kind of love. It’s the love of Gods and demons. We don’t get to decide when fate’s involved.”

“I’m okay with that,” Natasha says. “I missed you.”

Clint doesn’t wait any longer. He kisses her like it’s the first and last time, brings his hand into her hair so he can deepen it and feel every inch of the smile that he finally manages to pull from her. She tastes like every sin in the world and then some, and when she pushes herself as close as she physically can to him he feels like he might just float away if it weren’t for her holding him down.

Natasha pulls away only to kiss her way across his cheek and down to the soft skin over his pulse, one shaky hand caressing his cheek and keeping his head still. The ache in his head dulls until it’s just throbbing like an after-thought. He can’t help the moan that escapes his mouth on the back of an exhale, and he’s got one hand on the neckline of her shirt when he remembers exactly _where_ they are. 

“People,” he manages to say. “Shit, we’re on a beach.”

“I cast a shield spell,” she says by way of explanation. “Oh.”

Natasha’s legs buckle and Clint can literally feel the energy draining out of her body. It’s like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over his head and he shivers involuntarily, noticing the heat of the sun for the first time since he entered her bubble. She holds his arm tightly to steady herself and pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head softly. 

“You okay?” He asks. He notices people in the distance that weren’t there before and quickly folds his wings away before he causes a national incident. “Natasha?”

“Fine,” she replies around a yawn. “I need to lie down. I need to… explain some things.”

“It can wait. Let’s get back inside.”

It’s a slow walk back to Clint’s hotel. He’s not really sure how they got from there to here, with Natasha leaning against his side as he leads the way up the staircase, but he’s also not really sure how they got anywhere past the welcome mat in front of his door. It feels almost like he’s known her for a lifetime and not just for the few months he’s been Earth-side.

Once inside his room Natasha sits down heavily on the bed, features pinched in pain. Clint takes a bottle of water from the mini fridge and offers it to her. It’s not much, though he’s not sure what else he can give her. He sits beside her, shoulder to shoulder. He wants to say something but he’s not sure where to start.

“Fury thought… Well, he didn’t know much, but he thought that you were dangerous. You _are_ dangerous, just not in the way that we expected. He saw you as someone with too much power and a knack for slitting throats instead of…”

Natasha snorts and shakes her head. “Instead of a fucked-up woman, right?”

“Instead of someone who had been hurt,” Clint says softly. “He told me that they experimented on you. He just couldn’t see how that might change a person.”

“He doesn’t have to worry about the schematics of it all,” she says. “He just has to make the call.”

“Yea, well, I’m making a different call.” Clint offers his hand and is surprised when she entwines her fingers with his. He presses his thumb against her wrist and feels her pulse, fast and strong. “We both have some things to explain, I think.”

Natasha squeezes his fingers and then lets herself fall back on the bed. He falls with her, lets her hair tickle his cheek as they stare at the spots on the ceiling. The AC blasts against his legs and for a split second he can imagine that he’s back home in Brooklyn, the night of the carnival. He’s not sure when he started thinking of his rundown apartment as _home_.

“They could never work out how to get this to stop,” Natasha murmurs, gesturing vaguely to herself with her free hand. “After the magic. After I did what they said. They couldn’t keep me going. I get so tired I can barely stand.”

Clint frowns. “ _Every_ time you use magic?”

“Unfortunately, yes. There was always bound to be some fatal flaw to their grand plan.” Natasha yawns again and Clint turns his head to see her drape her arm over her eyes. “That and the burns. But it’s easier to ignore the pain.”

The pink marks that had appeared on her arms at the beach have blistered slightly, looking for all the world like burns that have already begun healing. He gingerly touches one and feels a spark shoot down his own arm, his skin stinging as though _he_ was the one who was burnt, too. He withdraws his finger and swallows the well of emotion that rises in his chest. 

“When they sent me to find you I lost my wings,” Clint says slowly. “It hurt more than I can describe, but I think you might know what it feels like.”

Natasha peeks out at him from around her arm, eyes calculating. “There are a lot of things I feel with you.”

He lets out a breath. “There were so many signs. _So many_ signs. And I didn’t even notice that you were right in front of me the whole time.”

“Deception charms were one of the first things I mastered. Every time Liho came to your apartment, she would leave a sigil to confuse you.”

“Well it worked,” he mutters, then can’t help but laugh. “I knew your cat was up to no good. She _hates_ me.”

“She’s protecting me,” Natasha argues. “She knew who you were before I did.”

“Lucky was hexed,” Clint blurts before he can stop himself. “He lost an eye. I thought it was you before I knew who you really were.”

“Madame,” Natasha spits. She pulls her hand away from his and instead presses her fists against her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Clint.”

“They were looking for you. They asked me if I had seen you, actually. And then I found you in that shipping container and—what _were_ you doing there?”

The memories filter into his mind slowly. It’s not like he’s actually forgotten them, but Liho and her sigil have probably been causing more havoc on his brain than he realised. There’s so much that still doesn’t make sense and he just wants to know, more than anything. He wants to know why he’s so drawn to her, why being with her is as easy as breathing when it should be the opposite.

“Later,” she whispers. “Hold me.”

Her voice leaves no room for argument, though Clint was never going to say no anyway. They pull themselves up the bed and curl around each other, legs and arms fitting together like pieces of the perfect puzzle. She sighs, long and deep, and presses her nose against his chest. 

And Clint, fallen angel that he already is, falls just a little bit harder. 

☀ ☾

The moon is over halfway to being full when he wakes up. It’s midnight, and she’s sitting against the headboard with a mug of steaming tea cupped between her hands. He’s not sure where she got it from but doesn’t feel the need to ask. Her eyes remain fixed on the TV as the spoon within her mug stirs itself. 

“You have to be the one to do it,” she says softly. Her gaze slides over to him and he sees a lifetime of sadness swimming in her eyes. “Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” He asks gruffly. 

“That you’ll be the one to do it, if they find me. If they catch me again I don’t want to go with them. You have to be the one to end it.”

There’s a seriousness to her voice that makes him nervous. “What are you saying? End it how, Tasha?”

“Kill me,” she whispers. “If it looks like I’m going to lose, you need to kill me. Promise me.”

“That’s not—you’re not gonna lose, we—we cheated our way out of the prophecy, remember?” he bargains.

She frowns. “What?”

“The day at the docks. You didn’t die, Natasha; you’re still here, and that means something. It has to.”

“You can’t cheat prophecies, Clint,” she sighs. “That’s the whole point.”

“Nat, I can’t—I can’t _promise_ to end your life.” Clint sits up and stares at her, trying to understand what she’s really saying. “That’s not my job anymore, remember? You can’t make me—”

“Clint,” she says firmly, pressing a finger against his lips. “Promise me. It has to be you.”

It feels like the end of something. The end of the world, maybe, though he knows that the world will keep spinning regardless of whether she’s in it or not. He’ll go back to Heaven, and then life really will continue on. It hurts, deep in his chest. But he nods his head anyway. 

“Okay. I promise. But it’s never going to happen. We’ll keep moving until we lose them.”

Natasha’s smile is far too sad. “We, huh? Angels and witches don’t get to make those kinds of decisions.”

“I don’t care what they say,” he declares. “I don’t care if I’m punished. They can’t keep me from you.”

“There are rules against this for a reason.”

“I don’t care,” Clint repeats. He moves closer to her, takes her mug from her hands and sets it down on the side table. His lips are almost brushing hers when he says, “I just want _you_ , Natasha.”

Natasha kisses him first this time, crawling into his lap without breaking contact once. He grabs her by the hips and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss until she’s rocking against him. There’s not enough friction and she makes a displeased noise that he swallows before moving his lips across her collarbone, hands reaching under her shirt. 

“I want you too,” she tells him, flicking her fingers and removing his sweater without him having to so much as move a muscle. Her hands caress his back, up and over the bumps of his wings. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he moans, unable to help himself from sucking a mark into the crook of her neck. She sighs and grinds her hips against him again, nails digging into the back of his neck. “Is _this_ okay?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, pushing his head up so that she can kiss him. “Don’t fucking stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he tells her. He pulls her own shirt over her head, revealing the creamy skin of her stomach and a purple lace bra that makes his brain momentarily short-circuit. “Holy—”

“Touch me,” she says, and her bra comes off with a snap of her fingers. He feels her hand at the waistband of his pants and grins wickedly as he presses the first of many hot kisses to the side of her breast. “ _Clint_.”

His teeth graze her nipple and she curses in a language that might be Russian or something that she’s just made up on the spot. He follows the curve of her breast down, over soft skin and the muscles of her stomach that jump when his breath rushes over her. She keeps one hand on the back of his head as she guides him between her thighs, and he’s not sure when she lost her shorts but can’t find it in him to care when she makes noises like _that_. 

She tastes as sweet as the roses in Antheia’s garden of paradise. There are a thousand and one unearthly things he could do in the moment, but his human body knows her better than any of his divinity. He teases her with his thumb on her clit and listens to the crescendo of breaths that could be a prayer. 

“More,” she moans, circling her hips forward. He relents and pushes a finger inside her, tongue replacing his thumb and sending her climax towards its peak, and when she comes he feels his own body throb in tandem with her. She sighs and he moves up to kiss her filthily, eyes darkening as she pulls away to lick the taste of herself off his finger. “They teach you that in Heaven?”

Clint grins. “That, among other things.”

“You gonna show me those other things? Or do I need to say _please_?”

He lets Natasha take control, and she guides him into her in a motion so fluid the feeling of it makes his head spin. His hips snap against hers and her head drops to rest on his shoulder, pushing him deeper until he’s not entirely sure where he begins and she ends. She’s fireworks and hot touches and a dream that only Eros could conjure, and if he’s going to Hell he may as well make the most of it.

Later, they lay beneath the covers with their legs locked together and the window open to let the breeze in. Natasha rests her head on his arm, watching the rise and fall of his chest with a lazy smile. It’s nice, in a new way. In an almost _human_ way, he supposes. He could get used to it.

“I don’t really remember much of my childhood,” Natasha says. “Not the things that matter, anyway. I think my body holds onto the moments that my mind forgets.”

“Oh yea?” Clint murmurs. “You said they hurt you.”

“Everyone is hurt in life. I don’t think my experiences were any more painful—”

“Tasha,” he interrupts carefully. “You don’t have to hide with me.”

She continues to watch him, brows pulled together slightly as though she’s only just realising something. Then, she reaches out to caress his cheek, the soft smile returning to her features. “I know. But I don’t remember most of it. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says blindly, without really stopping to think. “Of course I do.”

“That’s all that matters then.” She pulls herself closer to him and runs her fingers through the short strands of his hair. “Tell me something about you.”

Clint sighs and shrugs one shoulder. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Sure there is,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes. “You’re an angel. I can count on one hand the number of angels I've met.”

“Really, though. It’s nice having wings and immortality, but it gets a little boring living in a place where nothing ever goes wrong. Day after day it’s all just… the same.”

“That doesn’t sound as nice as they make it out to be,” she says softly. “What happens if you leave?”

“If I leave I—” He pauses, struggles with an emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time. “I get a human body, like this one. And then one day I’ll eventually die.”

“You ever thought about leaving?”

“I never had a reason to stay on Earth before,” he admits. “It’s… different. I’ve realised that people aren’t as one dimensional as I originally thought.”

“Some of them are,” Natasha jokes, and he’s thankful for the change of tone. “What do you do for fun then, Hawkeye?”

Clint laughs. “Archery, actually. With real arrows, not the kind that Cupid flaunts. I’m a pretty decent marksman.”

“Why do I feel like you’re being modest?” Natasha looks at her fingers and he notices the shimmery gold magic coating her skin like it’s got a life of its own. “Maybe you could teach these hands a new trick.”

“I would love to,” Clint says. He presses a kiss to the top of her hair just because he can. “When we get out of here I’ll show you whatever you like.”

“Will you kill me with an arrow?” Natasha asks suddenly. At the look on his face she continues, words rushing together as though she can’t physically contain them. “If you have to. If it comes down to it. Will you use an arrow?”

“I don’t know—”

“You have to know,” she insists. “You were going to do it anyway. You have to have a plan.”

He swallows the lump in his throat and recognises that this is her way of staying in control; that without this, without this knowledge, she won't stick around long enough to find out what the plan is. He needs her to stay. He _needs_ her.

“A dagger, actually,” he says slowly. “That was the plan. If I could get close enough I was going to stab you, but if I couldn’t…”

“You’ll be close enough,” she says, eyes focusing on the wall over his chest. “That’s a good plan.”

“We’re not going to need it,” he assures her. “We’ll think of a new plan, a better plan. Promise me you’ll try.”

“I can’t promise anything until I know they’re gone.” She rolls onto her back and takes his arm with her, wrapping herself around it so that his hand rests on her belly. It’s cosy and warm and he doesn’t want to think about a universe empty of her. “It’s okay. Like you said, maybe the prophecy didn’t work.”

He knows she doesn't believe it, but he’ll take her false hope over the alternative any day of the week. The night settles into the kind of quiet stillness he’s not used to, even though he's spent many nights on Earth lying awake at midnight. This one is different. He holds her a little tighter and closes his eyes. 

☾ ☀

Florida feels brighter the next day. Natasha drags him out to a smoothie bar at an ungodly hour of the morning, and the two of them walk hand in hand on the beach, sharing sips of each other’s drinks. Clint steals a kiss that tastes of watermelon and strawberries and when they put their feet in the ocean the water is warm. 

They don’t do much except get to know each other. Between eating out and swimming at the beach he learns that Natasha’s necklace holds one of the most powerful concealment spells he’s ever seen in his life, and that she hadn’t been wearing it the day he _technically_ broke into her house to make sure she was still alive. It explains the crippling effect being in the room had had on his body, and he shakes his head at another obvious sign that he missed. 

He tells her about his bow, the one that he had hidden every Friday when she knocked on his door. The bow carved from a branch of Methuselah, the oldest tree in the world. He tells her that he never misses and means it. She swallows all of his words like they’re gospel and he reminds himself that she’s still expecting him to have to kill her. He won’t. He doesn’t tell her that. 

Natasha laughs with her whole body. Clint watches her flick her wrist to turn the TV on and wave her fingers to get the curtains to close. Her magic is beautiful when it’s not controlling her, and he spends hours watching the shimmery gold energy dance across her skin. When she smiles he thinks that a small piece of Heaven has finally made it to Earth.

He buys her a new necklace, a tiny silver arrow on a thin chain that she channels all of her power into. It rests against the hollow of her throat when she sleeps off the exhaustion that the spell causes. Clint knows parts of her that he’s sure she’s never shown anyone before, and he holds her secrets close to his chest. He thinks it would be nice if they could stay like this, together; just the two of them and a love that feels inevitable.

They spend one glorious week in Florida, and then one dawn Natasha wakes from a nightmare. It’s the first time she does in Clint’s arms.

“They’re here,” she says, trembling. Clint sits up quickly to hold her. “They’re here for me, Clint.”

☀ ☾

Natasha can’t be convinced to go back to sleep, and so Clint just waits with her through the hours for light to come in through the curtains. They sit in silence, Natasha gripping his hand and trying to get her erratic pulse to slow down and match his to no avail.

“Look,” Clint points at the first long shadows cast onto the floor. “Natasha. It’s day. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Just because something’s golden, doesn’t mean it’s good.” Natasha’s eyes are sad. “Just look at what they did to me. Clint—you believed me when I told you I was trying to be better. I could see it in your eyes. You have to believe me now. Please.”

“I do,” Clint says. “Tell me about the dream.”

“We were on the beach,” she begins. “The witches... were there, and there were _so many_ of them, and then they took me back, did all sorts of things to me, but—Clint, they _killed_ you and sent you to Hell. The pain, it felt so real, and I could hear your screams. _Clint_.”

Dread settles in Clint’s stomach. He pulls her close and rocks her gently. “Nat, it’s okay. We’re both still here. It was probably only a dream.”

Natasha freezes and looks up at him. “Clint,” she says slowly. “What day is it?”

He turns and reaches for the alarm clock on the bedside table, then meets Natasha’s nervous gaze with what he’s sure is a fearful one.

**07:32**

**OCT 31**

“So much for cheating the prophecy,” Clint tries to say light-heartedly, but it falls flat. His voice is shaking, and so are his hands. Natasha reaches for them.

“It’s going to be okay, Clint,” she says. “At least now we know what’s going to happen if you don’t do it. If you don’t kill me.”

“Will you _stop_ telling me to kill you!” Clint shouts more than asks and fights back tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Nat, I know I promised you, but it’s not going to actually come down to it. We don’t know if your dream really meant anything, and even then the prophecy said something about the moon, and I can’t believe I’m even considering the idea that it could be true, but—we at least have till night, Nat, we have time—”

“We don’t! We don’t have time. We’ve been trying to outrun it for weeks now, but it’s—it’s inescapable. You have to do it today. It has to be you.”

“Natasha.”

“Clint. You know what will happen if my powers fall into the Red Room’s hands again. It won’t be pretty.”

Clint, of course, knows. He knows with all of his abominable, greedy, selfish, human heart. And logically, he knows that to let Natasha live but be taken away by people who use her for their own good, who don’t love her, is to do wrong by her. He _knows_.

He just has trouble accepting it.

He loves Natasha, and Natasha loves him. They deserve a happily ever after, the stuff from human fairytales. They deserve to wake up every day for the rest of their lives next to each other, all smiles and whispers and kisses. They never asked for their lives to revolve around Heaven and magic and forbidden romances.

Natasha does not deserve to die.

Clint gets up, runs his hands through his hair. Natasha waits expectantly on the bed when he turns around and offers, “I’ll talk to Fury.”

It’s barely out of his mouth before Natasha interrupts. “ _Absolutely not_ —”

“Natasha, he’s literally God—”

“And I’m a witch!”

“He’s not all bad.”

“I know that; he’s God.”

They stare at each other for a long second. Clint sighs.

“Natasha, you’ve gotta give me something to work with here. It feels like I’m the only one trying to save you.”

“It’s one life versus a potential worldly disaster,” Natasha argues. “The answer is glaringly obvious.”

Clint doesn’t give up. “Can’t we just get out of here? Go somewhere with no water, just land, see how it plays out?”

“Maybe I’m not worth saving, Clint, have you thought about that?”

“Don’t say that,” he says. “You’re worth every star in the sky.”

“It’s written in the same stars that I’m going to die in your arms. Clint, please, we’re on the same side. Maybe we should just make the best out of today.”

“Natasha. I love you.”

She softens. “I’m sorry. I really wish it could be anyone else, that I didn’t have to leave you here alone to fight the Red Room.”

Clint says, “I love you, and it’s terrifying. I can’t even remember the last time I got attached. But I would tear down cities for you, you know that? I don’t break; I don’t burn. There’s no blood in my veins, just gold. I’m an angel. I’m what heroes in mythology are made of, and now that I have something to fight for, I’m never stopping.”

Natasha’s muttering, a frown between her eyebrows. “Gold in your veins… You don’t break… not easily broken.”

“Not easily broken,” Clint echoes, even though he has no idea where she’s going with this.

“I have a theory,” Natasha announces, standing up from the bed. “Get dressed. We’re going down to the beach.”

“Not your best idea,” Clint grimaces, but catches the pile of clothes Natasha throws at him anyway. Before they leave, he glances one last time at the clock.

**08:11**

They get breakfast at a nice little cafe right beside the beach. Clint eats his omelette in silence, feeling the paranoia radiating off of Natasha, who’s glancing behind her shoulder every ten seconds, her finished plate empty on the table. 

“So,” he attempts. “What’s your theory?”

“Eat faster, and I’ll show you,” she replies. “No, really. You should hurry up; we don’t have a lot of time.”

She pays for the meal, and then leads him down until they’re standing on sand that’s much finer, but not quite wet. She holds her arm out, and they watch the gold under her skin swirl and glitter.

“About what you said earlier,” Natasha says. “I realised you were right. All this time, we were focused on my power, how they’re always coming for me because of it, how we’d try to keep it out of their grasp. But, Clint, you’re an angel. Supposedly more powerful than any artificial serum they could ever inject into my bloodstream. And then, I started thinking.”

Natasha takes Clint’s hand by the forearm, retrieves a little blade from somewhere underneath her dress swiftly, and presses it to his wrist.

“Ow,” he says pointedly, watching a few drops of gold ooze out. “Hey. That stuff is expensive.”

“Clint, look,” Natasha says softly, holding out her own arm. The gold under her skin is miraculously somehow being _drawn_ to Clint’s blood, swirling faster and faster. Fascinated, he watches as a drop falls onto Natasha’s arm and disappears _into_ it, joining the little wisps.

“Whoa,” he breathes. “How…”

“The serum. It contained a fraction of angel blood. Honestly, this explains so much.”

“This is some soulmate sorcery,” Clint chuckles unbelievably, almost forgetting about their ticking clock for a second.

“I want you to try it,” says Natasha. She entwines his hand with hers and he feels the familiar jolt of energy that he still hasn’t quite gotten used to. At least now he knows why. 

Natasha clasps his hand tighter, then whispers a word, maybe a charm, in Russian. The change Clint feels is instant. Somehow, he’s able to breathe deeper than he ever has before, and even though it’s relatively early in the morning for him, a surge of energy rushes through him and he feels as if he could conquer the world.

And then Natasha lets out a pained gasp. Her legs buckle and Clint’s heart falls with her. He catches her; he’ll always catch her.

“Hey, hey—Nat.”

Her brows are pinched, like she has a headache. “‘M fine,” she mumbles. “Side effects aren’t uncommon. How do you feel?”

“Worried, for one. You’re in my arms and we’re beside the sea.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’m not dying _yet_. I still gotta make sure you learn this pretty well first. Supposedly, you should’ve just taken a little bit of my powers. Try it.”

“A little bit? You collapsed just cause of a little bit?”

“Try it,” Natasha insists, then reaches out and up, guiding his arm to aim out at the sea.

Clint takes a breath. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing, and he’s fairly sure he looks extremely awkward. But when he bothers to really focus, something in him tingles and he opens his eyes to find a little energy orb he’s created, floating right above his hand.

The smile that spreads across Natasha’s face is even more magical, even though it’s obvious the power transfer’s drained her quite a bit. “I was right. When you, an angel, utilise my powers, they become easier to control and even _more_ powerful. Clint, one full blast of this, and you’d level an entire city.”

“I’m not levelling any cities unless it really gets necessary,” Clint clarifies, and the orb disappears. “Plus, a full blast would require me taking all your powers, and you saw what happened just now. If you gave me all your powers, you would—” He freezes.

She nods slowly. “It’s okay, Clint. Say it.”

“If you gave me all your powers, you would die, Nat.”

“What’s one life compared to hundreds?” Her smile softens, and she moves her hand to gently cup his cheek. “If we can stop them before they hurt anyone else, then it won’t be in vain, right?”

“I don’t think that makes it any better,” he whispers. “To me your life is worth more than the gold in my veins.”

“You should know more than anyone that we don’t always get what we want,” she says. “Besides, who knows if we’ll need to do any of this. Let’s just… enjoy our day. Act normal. Fortune tellers are deceptive, you know.”

Clint knows what she’s doing, but he’s too afraid to argue. He’s too afraid to tell her that there’s a feeling in his gut that makes it hard to breathe, that even though the odds of the prophecy coming true are slim they’re not _zero_. He’s too afraid to tell her that he doesn’t believe her. Fate has not been kind to him before.

“I know,” he settles on. “We should go for lunch later. Find the biggest milkshakes we can.”

“There’s a carnival tonight, actually. I think I owe you a kiss on top of the ferris wheel.”

He feels a smile finally settle on his face and leans in to place a warm kiss against her cheek. “I can’t wait, sweetheart.”

**12:06**

They find the biggest milkshakes Florida has to offer and drink them at a park, watching dogs chase balls and bark at strangers. Natasha tells him that she was the one who brought Lucky’s favourite toy back and Clint hugs her for just a little longer than necessary. It’s nice to know that someone else cares about his dog. It’s nice to know that someone else cares about him.

They walk hand in hand down Canterbury Lane with full stomachs and clear minds. Clint forgets about the Red Room and the day ticks away.

**14:38**

Natasha’s kisses burn like fire down his chest. The AC is off and their limbs are sticky where they clash together. Clint drags his hands over her body like he’s trying to memorise something, but he’s not really sure what. His mind turns to static in the wake of her mouth on him and the afternoon begins to bleed into pale blue skies. The moon is already out, half-hidden behind fluffy clouds.

It stares at the sun, longing. Natasha moans and Clint thinks he knows the feeling.

**16:57**

They shower together and Natasha gets changed into a new dress, short and purple and beautiful. Clint has an arm around her waist as they walk towards the carnival, the warmth of the sun lingering in the air and making his head fuzzy. He can’t remember much of what has happened during the day except for her sweet smile in bed.

“Are you doing something to my head?” He asks after she’s finished buying their passes. He notes the slight shift of her eyes to the side and frowns. “Nat, c’mon.”

“I thought it would be nicer if we just… forgot about things for a while,” she admits. “I just—This is a normal day. Okay? Boring and normal.”

He detects a hint of fear in her voice for the first time. He reaches out to squeeze her fingers and is surprised by how cold she is. He turns her arm over and reveals a patch of skin bare of any magic, and the Earth crashes down around his feet in a second.

“Nat—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts, pulling her hand away. “We’re having a normal day.”

“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t want her to be mad. He doesn’t want her to be _scared_. “How about a shooting game first?”

Natasha rises to his challenge, almost beating him in a shootout until he scores his fifth bullseye in a row. She rolls her eyes when he chooses a plastic bracelet as his prize but lets him clasp it around her magic-less hand. His eyes burn with the knowledge that a part of her has become a part of him. He doesn’t want it to be like this.

Clint brings their intertwined fingers up to his lips to kiss Natasha’s hand, and lingers longer than he usually does.

**18:28**

It should be illegal for time to pass this quickly, but somehow they find themselves stumbling out the exit of a dizzying ride, Natasha giggling like crazy and Clint’s legs not really walking the right way yet. For a while, it had felt like flying again.

Personally, he can’t wait until they go on the ferris wheel. He voices this thought, and Natasha says, “I mean, it’s right there. We’ve been working our way towards it; I think we deserve to finally go on it.”

The ferris wheel isn't too far from the ride, and after draping his jacket around Natasha’s shoulders they set off for it, her gaze fixed on the current highest cart, lights swimming around in her eyes. Clint looks at her and sees an entire future.

And he’s so lost, now. The thought of Natasha leaving him terrifies him to the core. The thought of her being gone is just unfathomable. He’ll lose her. Forever.

Natasha stops dead in her tracks. Clint’s heart skips a beat before she pulls him roughly aside to hide behind a small tent. Natasha bends to see past it and Clint peeks around the other side.

There, disguised ironically as a cheerful popcorn seller, is Madame herself, her ever present scowl contrasting the preppy outfit. She seems to be looking around for something, or someone.

Clint and Natasha straighten up together, and even without looking he knows Natasha is shaking.

“Shit,” they say in unison.

They open their eyes, _really_ look around them. At first glance, the carnival is filled with happy families and laughing children, but for every five hand-holding couples that pass by, there’s always a lone woman, dressed in anything from all seven colours of the rainbow to, true to their origins, dark cloaks and hoods.

Witches.

Clint feels his heart fall through. This can’t be happening, but it is, and deep down he’s always known it could, but—

But.

Natasha reaches for his hand and he grips it tightly. She’s about to say something, and then it occurs to him what she’s about to do. His other hand flies up to her mouth, covering it so she can’t say the spell.

“Don’t you dare,” he threatens as quietly as he can, trying not to draw attention. “Natasha, no.”

She wrestles his arm away so she can speak. “It’s the only way, Clint.”

“It’s not! Look, we can at least stall. Maybe—” he looks around and realises they haven’t been spotted, probably because of Natasha’s necklace and the spell that protects her. “Listen, I’m going to count to three, and you’re going to _run_ , Nat, okay? Get out of here as fast as you can; don’t look back. I’ll deal with them and find you later. I promise.”

“I’m not going to run. I’m not a coward.”

“Natasha, this isn’t the time for heroics. You’re going to—you _could_ die.”

“Alright. But… can you stay with me?” she asks, and Clint can feel the tears of desperation that are so close to spilling out. “Please. I’m scared.”

“Forever,” Clint promises. “But now we need to run.”

She takes his hand and sprints, weaving between bodies that blur together until Clint can’t quite tell the difference between the witches and the humans. Natasha doesn’t seem to care as she drags him after her towards the exit. She doesn’t look back once, and it feels final in a way that he wasn’t prepared for.

He’s not really watching when she suddenly slams to a stop, but a second later he does too, body hitting an invisible wall that doesn’t allow them to leave the carnival. He reaches out to try and push through but it burns his forearm sharply, leaving behind a mark that blisters at the edges. He curses and Natasha drops his hand to wipe her sweaty hair away from her forehead. 

“They don’t want me to leave,” she whispers. “I need to go back.”

“No,” Clint chokes. “We were supposed to have more time.” He looks up at the full silver moon, at the sun beginning to set.

 _We were supposed to have more time_. And he doesn’t just mean now. He means for eternity; more time to love each other, to fight and cry and be as normal as they can be given the circumstances. When he says _more time_ he means, more time to _live_.

Natasha’s face is steely and he knows that she’s made up her mind. He reaches out to delicately touch the arrow against her throat, fingers moving up to brush over her cheek in a desperate attempt to get her to see reason. 

“There’s going to be a way out. Just try for me, Nat. Please just try.”

Her mask cracks just a little, but it’s enough. She nods and turns her head to press a kiss against the palm of his hand. “I’ll try for you.”

He wants her to try for _her_. He smiles and hopes it’s enough to make her stay. 

**18:39**

They find a back exit behind a ride that promises to knock their socks off, and when Natasha tentatively reaches out and her hand passes through clean he can’t help the relieved gasp that leaves his mouth. They stumble out of the carnival, leaving behind the bright lights and the shadow of the ferris wheel, feet unsteady on the sand beneath their feet.

They stop running when they no longer hear the music. The night descends into an eerie stillness, the waves against the shore the only sound to be heard. Natasha bends over with her hands on her knees and sucks in deep lungfuls of salty sea air. Clint stares down the coastline, clenching his shaking hands into fists.

“Let’s keep going,” he says resolutely. “It’ll be sunset soon, so we should get as far away as we can before it’s dark.”

The sun is already well on its way to setting, the sky tinged pink and purple. Natasha crashes into him suddenly, kissing him fiercely and wrapping her arms around his neck. He kisses her back and tastes the ocean and all of their dreams. When he pulls away there’s a tear on her cheek, but before he can reach out to wipe it away he feels a pain in his back so intense that it sends him straight to his knees, hands digging into the sand as a strangled scream is pulled from his throat.

“Clint!” Natasha cries, dropping beside him and reaching for his face. “Look at me. You need to look at me.”

He can’t. He can’t do anything other than sob, feeling the pain creep up to his shoulders and stick. It feels like he’s being ripped in half, and all he can do is let it happen, let his body fall into an abyss of agony. He cries out again and finally notices Natasha’s hands as she pulls his head up so that he can look at her.

“Clint,” she whispers, hands cupping his cheeks. Her fingers gently trace the lines of his face, and above the fire burning across his back he remembers that he had tried to memorise her once, too. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t have time to force himself to speak. Natasha brings her forehead to rest against his and he watches tears slip down her cheeks. Her lips move but he _doesn’t understand_ , doesn’t understand until the pain begins to ebb and he can feel something powerful gather in the palms of his hands. He doesn’t understand until he does. 

But by then, it’s too late.

**18:42**

Natasha falls. In the time it takes for her body to tilt and hit the sand, Clint has spread his wings and created an orb of magic so powerful it burns bright red in his hands. He directs it at Madame, standing behind him on the sand with her arms still outstretched towards him. He has half a second to see the smug smile slip from her face before he sends the orb straight towards the centre of her head.

Madame ignites, because Clint never misses. He doesn’t watch her burn. He collapses beside Natasha and pulls her into his lap, brushing hair away from her face as her eyes struggle to focus on him. The arrow necklace is no longer around her neck. He vaguely wonders if she took it off to give him as much of her as she could.

“Hey,” he says to her softly. “You’re okay, Nat. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, sweetheart, it’s—” Clint swallows his tears and wills his hand to stop shaking as he combs his fingers through her hair. “It’s okay. I’m sure… I’m sure we can give the magic back. You have to have a spell for it.”

“No,” she breathes, face paler than he’s ever seen her. “I don’t. It had to be you.”

Clint shakes his head. “No, _no_ , Tasha. There has to be a spell.”

“I’m okay,” she says. “Clint. I’m glad it was you. But I… I have to… go.”

“No,” he says fiercely. “I’ll speak to Fury. I’ll give you my blood. Just… just give me some more _time_.”

“I’ve had more time than I thought I would.” She exhales and he hears a rattle, and he’s not sure if it’s his heart breaking or the inevitable end they were trying to avoid. “Thank you.”

“But we haven’t kissed on top of the ferris wheel,” he chokes, hot tears burning his eyes. “I have so much love to give you.”

“I love you too, Hawkeye.” She smiles. “You’re my… my sun.”

“No,” he says, even though he knows it’s too late. Even though he knows the exact moment that Natasha draws her last breath, because he feels it in the splintered shards of his heart. Even though he knows that there’s no way to come back from this. Even though he knows, he still says, “No, Tasha.”

_When the full moon rises on Hallow’s Eve, your growing worries you’ll finally relieve. By the sea, by the tumultuous, boundless tides; in the arms of your lover will you meet your demise._

The moon hangs above them, high and bright. Clint looks up at it and screams.

☾ ☀

Clint’s back in Bed-Stuy by the end of the week. He watches through hollow eyes as the news reports a once in a lifetime weather event, citing tides and an unpredictable tropical storm for the way that the sky had lit up in crimson red and deep purple over Florida. He knows that it’s not the case, though. His grief cannot be explained by scientists.

He spends his days in bed, waiting for Fury to come and find him. Lucky curls up beside him and stares at the wall that had separated their rooms. He doesn’t think about Natasha and the way that she had left him. He doesn’t see Liho, either. He’s not sure he could face the cat if he did.

When he cries it rains. His wings still ache from where Madame had tried to rip them out and the mark on his arm has scarred the flesh. If he closes his eyes he can see her smile. He doesn’t let himself sleep until he’s sure he won’t dream.

☀ ☾

When Fury does come, Clint’s ready for the punishment. He sits on his couch in front of his boss and meets his glare steadily, not afraid of whatever Hell is coming for him. It’s hard to be scared of anything after he’s already lost Natasha.

“You killed two birds with one stone,” Fury says eventually. “Impressive, if a little dysfunctional.” 

“They’re all dead,” Clint replies without flinching. He’s not proud of the bloodbath he had left behind in Florida, but his rage had burned crimson in his chest for days. “I’d fucking do it again. They took...” He rubs a hand over his face, then shakes his head.

Fury stares at him. “You loved her.”

“Love,” he corrects automatically. “It was always her, Nick. Before I knew it _was_ her. I can’t even think straight anymore.”

Fury glances at Lucky, who looks just about as sad as Clint feels. He lost a friend, too, even if towards the end they hadn’t been on the best of terms. Lucky’s a dog, but he’s not just a pet. Animals in Heaven have more sense than some people on Earth.

“And she sacrificed herself?” Fury asks, even though Clint knows that he knows. 

“So the Red Room couldn’t use her again. They would—Shit, they would have used her to make more. She didn’t want anyone else to suffer, even though she was suffering herself.”

Clint rubs at his tired eyes and wills the conversation to be over. He doesn’t even know if he wants to go back anymore; all that’s waiting for him in Heaven is a medal and empty congratulations from his colleagues. He’ll be hailed a hero for stopping the mass-murdering witch and no one will ever think to ask, _but why_?

“Why did she have to die?” he says softly. “There had to be another way. She… she gave me all of her magic and I just… I couldn’t save her.”

Fury sits beside him and claps him on the shoulder, and Clint realises with a sense of dread that this is the end for real this time. This is the moment he goes back and forgets everything that happened in his months Earth-side. Hawkeye returns, the show goes on, and one day he’s expected to wake up and not remember.

Except, he’ll never forget. He knows that he can’t forget the way her smile lit up her eyes, the way kissing her took his breath away and ached in the best way possible. How she laughed and lived and breathed and gave more of her than the world deserved. How she was the first person he had ever loved _like that_. How she will be the only person he loves like that.

“Angles and witches don’t—” Fury starts, then stops and shakes his head. “Hell, who cares if it’s illegal. I’m God; I make the fucking rules.”

Clint looks over at Fury with a frown on his face and a feeling in his chest that he hasn’t felt for a long time. Hope blossoms. He holds his breath and waits.

Fury smiles. “I do like pulling strings.”

☾ ☀

Clint gives up his wings for a girl. 

It will go down in history; the archer who sat at the right hand of God sacrifices his immortal life to fall to Earth for the last time. Fury takes his wings and gives him the body he had grown to love, stubbed toes and all. The loss of divinity comes at a price and Clint loses half of his hearing, too, sometime between Heaven and the descent back home. When he wakes up in his apartment in Bed-Stuy there are already purple hearing aids waiting for him on the bedside table.

Lucky comes too. His dog will grow old and one day return to the sky but for now his ears are silky soft, his tongue too big for his head. Clint takes him to the dog park every day and lets him live the life of a King. If he steals another slice of pizza before bed then Clint pretends not to notice. 

Clint gives up his wings for a girl. What the history books won’t know is that she wasn’t just a girl. She was a witch, too; a witch who just wanted to do good with the hands she had been dealt. They won’t know that he loved her enough to sacrifice a part of himself, too.

☀ ☾

The full moon tells him that it’s been a month, but Clint tries not to think about that night anymore. He climbs the stairs to the apartment complex slowly, still learning the limits of his human body. Chasing Lucky around the dog park for hours had been fun, but his legs feel a little like jelly by the time he’s reached his home.

The door beside his door opens. Time doesn’t slow down, even as his breath catches in his throat. The woman that walks out has red hair braided over her shoulder and a black cat in the crook of her arm. Her eyes shine brighter than any heavenly jewels, her face lit in the smile that he sees behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. The scar on his arm tingles with the kind of power he’s forgotten.

There’s a necklace resting against her throat that he gave her in another lifetime. When she sees him she pauses, forehead crinkled in confusion as she stares into his soul. From his side Lucky barks, tail wagging in excitement, and the black cat looks up and winks.

“Hi, I’m Natasha,” she says. “Do I know you?”

“My name’s Clint,” he says, and he swears that the moon in the sky shines just a little bit brighter. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> to shelby: thank you so much for like being a very cool friend and providing us with so many very cool ideas that we actually used in this :D WE LOVE YOU SM ❤️❤️  
> to emily: thank u for being my wife and showing me pain i hope u see what u have done  
> thank you to taylor swift for writing you are in love about clint and natasha and thank you to the arrow necklace for being clintasha's unofficial wedding ring ✨  
> and to everyone else thank you for reading we hope you enjoyed it here is: [our spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6oEhENjkUHNE3vHMytq72H?si=ip7bN28WT0Wg_6v4RSoUtA) and [our pinterest board](https://pin.it/4ZwpZiu) !!


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